FIELD 
FORES! 

AND 

FARM 


JEAN  HENRI  FABRE 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


GIFT  OF 

JOHN  PHILLIPS 
DOROTHY  G.  PHILLIPS 


FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 


FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

THINGS  INTERESTING  TO   YOUNG 

NATURE-LOVERS,  INCLUDING  SOME 

MATTERS  OF  MOMENT  TO  GARDENERS 

AND  FRUIT-GROWERS 


BY 

JEAN-HENRI  FABRE 

Author  of  "THE  STORY-BOOK  OF"  SCIENCE,"  "Ooa 

HUMBLE  HELPERS,"  "SOCIAL  LIFE  IN 

THE  INSECT  WORLD,"  etc. 


TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH 

BY 
FLORENCE  CONSTABLE  BICKNELL 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1919 


QH 


Copyright,  1919,  by 
THE  CENTUBY  Co. 


Published,  September,  1919 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I     THE  STAFF  OF  LIFE 3 

II    THE  HISTORY  OF  TOBACCO 11 

III  THE  ORIGIN  OF  FERTILE  SOIL  ....  16 

IV  DIFFERENT  KINDS  OF  SOIL 21 

V  DIFFERENT  KINDS  OF  SOIL  (Continued)   .  25 

VI    POTASH  AND  PHOSPHORUS 30 

VII  PHOSPHATES  AND  NITROGEN     ....  35 

VIII  VEGETATION  AND  THE  ATMOSPHERE   .     .  42 

IX    LIME 47 

X    LIME  IN  AGRICULTURE 52 

XI    PLASTER  OF  PARIS 56 

XII  PLASTER  OF  PARIS  IN  AGRICULTURE  .     .  60 

XIII  NATURAL   FERTILIZERS — GUANO      ...  65 

XIV  THE  STALK  OF  THE  PLANT 70 

XV    THE  ROOT 74 

XVI    BUDS 80 

XVII    ADVENTITIOUS  BUDS 84 

XVIII    BULBS  AND  BULBLETS 89 

XIX     TUBERS — STARCH 93 

XX    USES  OF  STARCH 98 

XXI    HISTORY  OF  THE  POTATO 102 

XXII    ASCENDING  SAP 107 

XXIII  DESCENDING  SAP 112 

XXIV  TREE-PRUNING 116 

XXV    PINCHING — BUD-NIPPING 120 

XXVI  MAKING  FRUIT  TREES  BEAR    ....  124 

XXVII    THE  SEED -.     .  129 

XXVIII    THE  SEED'S  FOOD-SUPPLY 134 

XXIX  GERMINATION                                              .  138 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXX  THE  BLOSSOM 1 

XXXI  POLLEN I50 

XXXII  THE  GRAIN  OP  WHEAT 155 

XXXIII  CULTIVATED  PLANTS 159 

XXXIV  DIFFERENT  WAYS  OF  PROPAGATING     .     .  165 
XXXV  LAYERING 170 

XXXVI  SLIPPING 178 

XXXVII  GRAFTING 184 

XXXVIII  GRAFTING    (Continued) 190 

XXXIX  GRAFTING    (Concluded) 197 

XL  ROTATION  OF  CROPS 202 

XLI  ROTATION  OF  CROPS  (Continued)   .      .      .208 

XLII  LAND-DRAINAGE 214 

XLI II  PARING  AND  BURNING 219 

XLIV  WINE-MAKING 223 

XLV  THE  STAG-BEETLE 228 

XLVI  SHEATH-WINGED  INSECTS 235 

XLVII  THE  JUNE-BUG 242 

XLVIII  CATERPILLARS  AND  BUTTERFLIES    .     .     .  249 

XLIX  ANTS 256 

L  THE  ANT-LION 264 

LI  VENOMOUS  ANIMALS 271 

LII  THE  PHYLLOXERA 279 

LIII  THE  PHYLLOXERA    (Continued)    .      .      .  288 

LIV  NOCTURNAL  BIRDS  OF  PREY     ....  295 

LV  THE  SMALLER  BIRDS 300 

LVI  BIRDS'  NESTS 305 

LVII  MIGRATION  OF  BIRDS 317 

LVII1  CARRIER-PIGEONS 322 

LIX  SOME  PREHISTORIC  ANIMALS    ....  328 

LX  THE  ORIGIN  OF  COAL 336 

LXI  THE  FARMER'S  HELPERS     .     .     .     .     .342 

LXII  THE  FARMER'S  HELPERS   (Continued)    .  348 


FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 


FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  STAFF   OF   LIFE 

WITH  his  nephews  as  willing  companions  and 
eager  listeners,  Uncle  Paul  continued  his 
walks  and  talks  in  the  pleasant  summer  afternoons. 

" Bread  is  made  of  flour,"  he  began,  "and  flour  is 
wheat  reduced  to  powder  under  the  millstone.  What 
an  interesting  mechanism  that  is,  the  flour-mill, 
driven  by  water,  by  the  wind,  sometimes  by  steam ! 
What  wearisome  effort,  what  waste  of  time,  if  we 
had  not  this  invention  and  were  forced  to  do  its  work 
of  grinding  by  sheer  strength  of  arm ! 

"I  must  tell  you  that  in  ancient  times,  for  want  of 
knowing  how  to  grind  wheat,  people  had  to  content 
themselves  with  crushing  it  between  two  stones  after 
parching  it  a  little  over  the  fire.  The  coarse  meal 
thus  obtained  was  cooked  in  water  to  a  sort  of  por- 
ridge and  eaten  with  no  further  preparation.  Bread 
was  unknown. 

"  Later  the  plan  was  hit  upon  of  kneading  the  meal 
with  water  and  of  cooking  the  dough  between  two 
hot  stones.  Thus  was  obtained  a  crude  sort  of  bis- 
cuit, about  as  thick  as  your  finger,  stodgy  and  hard, 

3 


4  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

and  mixed  with  charcoal  and  ashes.  It  was  prefer- 
able to  the  porridge,  the  insipid  paste,  of  the  earlier 
time,  but  far  inferior  to  the  poorest  bread  of  to- 
day. To  make  a  long  story  short,  by  trial  after 
trial  success  was  at  last  attained  in  the  making  of 
bread  like  ours.  It  became  necessary  then,  without 
possessing  anything  to  compare  with  our  mills,  to 
grind  wheat  in  large  quantities. 

"  Flour  was  obtained  by  triturating  the  wheat  in 
a  hollowed  stone  with  a  pestle.  This  latter  was 
sometimes  light  enough  to  be  operated  directly  by 

hand ;  sometimes, 
to  produce  quicker 
results,  it  was  so 
large  and  heavy 
that  it  had  to  be 
turned  in  its  stone 
mortar  with  the 
help  of  a  long  bar. 
Such  was  the  first 
mill.  With  appli- 
ances of  this  sort  I 
leave  you  to  im- 
agine how  long  a 
time  was  required 
for  the  production 
of  a  single  handful 

of  flour.  For  bread  enough  to  feed  one  person  at 
one  meal,  wretched  slaves  were  kept  toiling  from 
morning  till  night  and  from  night  till  morning  in 
turning  the  pestle." 


THE  STAFF  OF  LIFE  5 

"What  cruel  masters  they  must  have  had!"  ex- 
claimed Emile. 

"Yes,  the  slaves  were  harnessed  to  the  bar  like 
beasts  of  burden ;  and  when,  weakened  with  fatigue, 
they  did  not  go  fast  enough,  a  rawhide  was  applied 
to  their  bare  shoulders.  These  unfortunate  millers 
were  poor  wretches  taken  in  war  and  afterward  sold 
in  the  market  with  the  same  indifference  with  which 
a  drover  sells  his  cattle.  Such,  then,  were  the  hard- 
ships that  led  the  way  to  the  modern  mill  which  to- 
day, with  a  few  turns  of  its  water-wheel,  and  to  the 
cheerful  accompaniment  of  its  tick-tack,  can  make 
flour  enough  for  a  whole  family. 

"But  let  us  leave  the  mill  and  turn  our  attention 
to  the  following  interesting  experiment.  Take  a 
handful  of  flour  and  with  a  little  water  make  it  into 
dough.  This  done,  knead  the  dough  with  your  fin- 
gers over  a  large  plate  while  an  assistant  moistens 
it  continually  with  water  from  a  pitcher.  Keep  the 
dough  well  in  hand  and  continue  kneading  it,  flat- 
tening it  out  and  gathering  it  together  again,  turn- 
ing it  over  and  over  under  the  fine  stream  of  water 
poured  from  above. 

"Examine  carefully  the  water  that  passes  over 
the  dough  and  washes  it.  It  falls  into  the  plate  as 
white  as  milk,  showing  that  it  carries  with  it  some- 
thing from  the  flour.  This  something  will  finally 
settle  at  the  bottom  of  the  liquid,  and  we  shall  find  it 
to  be  a  substance  not  unlike  the  starch  used  for 
starching  linen.  In  fact,  it  is  starch,  or  fecula,  as 
the  chemists  call  it — neither  more  nor  less.  The 


6  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

starch  used  in  the  laundry  is  obtained  in  consider- 
able quantities  by  similar  means:  dough  is  washed 
and  the  whitened  water,  left  undisturbed,  deposits  a 
layer  of  starch  which  has  only  to  be  gathered  to- 
gether and  dried.1 

"So  much,  then,  is  made  clear:  flour  contains 
starch,  but  it  contains  something  else  also.  There  is 
a  limit  beyond  which  the  washed  dough  yields  no 
more  starch ;  it  is  useless  to  knead  it,  the  water  falls 
colorless  into  the  plate.  What  remains  in  one's 
hands  after  this  prolonged  washing  is  a  soft,  gluey 
substance,  having  something  of  the  elastic  quality  of 
rubber.  Grayish  in  color,  it  has  a  rather  pro- 
nounced odor.  When  dried  in  the  sun,  it  becomes 
hard  and  translucent  like  horn.  It  is  called  gluten 
from  its  gluelike  character,  its  viscosity. 

"Now  this  substance,  so  unattractive  in  appear- 
ance, all  soft  and  sticky  and  getting  clogged  between 
the  fingers — this  gluten,  in  short — do  you  know  what 
it  is?  Don't  try  to  dispute  me,  for  what  I  am  going 
to  tell  you  is  the  exact  truth.  In  its  composition 
gluten  does  not  differ  from  flesh.  It  is  vegetable 
flesh,  capable  of  becoming  animal  flesh  by  the  sim- 
ple process  of  digestion,  without  any  material  loss 
or  gain.  Therefore  it  is  gluten,  first  and  foremost, 
that  gives  to  bread  its  great  nutritive  value. 

"Of  all  the  cereals  wheat  contains  the  most  glu- 
ten, with  rye  holding  second  place.  Maize  and  rice, 
as  well  as  chestnuts  and  potatoes,  are  wholly  lack- 

i  Laundry  starch  is  now  obtained  chiefly  from  rice  and  from  pulse. 
— Translator. 


THE  STAFF  OF  LIFE  7 

ing  in  this  ingredient;  and  for  that  reason  flour 
made  from  them,  rich  though  it  be  in  starch,  is  not 
at  all  the  kind  of  flour  for  bread. 
This  will  explain  to  you  the  su- 
periority of  wheat  over  all  other 
farinaceous  grains. 

''Wheat,  the  only  cereal  that 
can  give  us  white  bread,  that  su- 
perior bread  which  nevertheless 
is  not  always  to  your  taste  un- 
less spread  with  a  little  butter, 
does  not  grow  in  all  countries. 
Open  your  atlas  and  run  over 
with  your  finger  the  countries  bor- 
dering on  the  Mediterranean; 
your  travels  will  embrace  the  Rye 

principal  regions  where  wheat  flourishes.  Farther 
north  it  is  too  cold  for  the  successful  culture  of  the 
precious  cereal ;  farther  south  it  is  too  warm. 

"But  that  is  not  all.  In  the  privileged  regions 
not  every  district  is  adapted  to  this  incomparable 
crop :  wheat  needs  the  mild  temperature  and  fertile 
soil  of  the  plains,  not  the  harsh  climate  and  dry 
slopes  of  the  mountains.  Let  us  consider  France  in 
particular.  Its  plains  produce  excellent  wheat,  but 
not  enough  to  feed  the  entire  population ;  therefore 
in  the  hilly  and  cooler  regions,  where  this  cereal 
cannot  be  raised,  recourse  is  had  in  the  first  place  to 
rye,  which  yields  a  bread  that  is  compact,  brown,  and 
heavy,  but  on  the  whole  preferable  to  any  other  ex- 
cept, of  course,  wheat.  This  rye  bread  is  the  cus- 


8  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

ternary  food  of  the  country  in  the  greater  number 
of  our  departments. 

"The  raising  of  rye  becomes  in  its  turn  impossible 
in  regions  too  cold  and  too  sterile.  There  then  re- 
mains, as  a  last  resort,  barley,  the 
hardiest  of  cereals,  which  is  found  in 
the  mountains  until  we  reach  the 
neighborhood  of  perpetual  snow,  and 
can  be  raised  even  in  the  frigid  climate 
of  the  extreme  North. 

"You  ought  to  taste  the  miserable 
bread  made  from  barley  in  order  to  find 
our  bread  good — or,  I  might  better  say, 
in  order  to  find  it  an  exquisite  dainty 
even  without  butter  or  jam.    Barley 
bread  is  full  of  long  bristles  that  stick 
in  the  throat;  it  contains  more  bran 
B"ley         than  flour ;  it  is  bitter,  stodgy,  and  of  a 
disagreeable  odor.    Oh,  what  sorry  stuff !    And  yet 
many  have  to  be  content  with  it,  and  are  only  glad 
if  they  can  get  enough  of  it. 

"In  the  greater  part  of  the  world  wheat,  widely 
distributed  by  commerce,  furnishes  bread  only  for 
the  tables  of  the  rich.  The  rest  of  the  population 
knows  nothing,  as  a  rule,  of  this  article  of  food,  has 
never  so  much  as  seen  it,  and  at  most  has  only  heard 
of  it  as  a  rare  curiosity.  In  place  of  bread  the  peo- 
ple eat  here  one  thing,  there  another,  according  to 
the  country.  Asia  has  rice,  Africa  millet,  America 
maize.  In  India  and  China  the  people  have  hardly 
anything  to  eat  but  rice  boiled  in  water  with  a  little 


THE  STAFF  OF  LIFE  9 

salt.     Half  the  entire  world  has  practically  the  same 
diet. 

4 'The  plant  that  produces  rice  has  a  stalk  resem- 
bling that  of  wheat,  but  instead  of  ending  in  an  up- 
right ear  it  bears  a  cluster  of  feeble 
and  pendent  branches,  all  loaded  with 
seeds.  The  leaves  are  narrow  and  rib- 
bon-shaped, rough  to  the  touch.  This 
plant  is  aquatic.  In  order  to  flourish,  it 
must  send  down  its  roots  into  the  sub- 
merged mud  and  spread  its  foliage,  ex- 
cepting the  tip,  in  the  flood.  Marshy 
shallows,  inundated  a  part  of  the  year, 
are  adapted  to  its  cultivation. ' ' 

* '  But  what  do  they  do  where  there  are 
no  such  marshes  ? ' '  asked  Louis. 

"When  such  marshes  are  lacking,  the 
ingenious  Chinaman  floods  the  lowlands  with  water 
from  some  near-by  stream  until  the  ground  is  all 
soft  and  muddy.  He  then  draws  off  the  water 
through  a  series  of  little  canals,  and  works  the  mud 
with  a  light  plow  drawn  by  a  buffalo,  a  kind  of  ox 
with  a  long  beard  hanging  from  its  chin  and  a  mane 
waving  on  its  back. 

' '  The  seed  once  sown  in  the  furrows  and  the  young 
plants  started,  the  water  from  the  stream  is  again 
made  to  flood  the  fields,  where  it  remains  until  har- 
vest time.  Then  for  the  second  time  it  is  drawn 
off,  and  the  reaper,  sickle  in  hand  and  with  the  black 
mud  up  to  his  knees,  cuts  down  the  rice-laden  tops 
of  the  stalks. 


10  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

"Maize,  or  Indian  corn,  is  the  staple  food  of  South 
America,  as  rice  is  that  of  Asia.  Many  call  it  Turk- 
ish wheat,  a  name  doubly  inappropriate,  for  in  the 
first  place  this  grain  is  not  indigenous  to  Turkey, 
but  to  America,  and  in  the  second  place  it  has  noth- 
ing in  common  with  the  wheat  from  which  bread  is 
made.  From  America  its  cultivation  has  spread  to 
our  part  of  the  globe. 

"The  ear  of  maize  is  very  large  and  is  composed 
of  full,  rounded  kernels,  yellow  and  shiny,  closely 
packed  in  regular  rows.  Like  rice,  maize  furnishes 
a  fine  flour  of  pleasing  appearance  but  lacking  in 
one  essential:  it  contains  no  gluten.  Hence  the 
utter  impossibility  of  using  either  rice  or  maize  for 
making  bread,  despite  the  good  appearance  of  the 
flour -made  from  them. 

"Nevertheless  maize  is  a  very  wholesome  article 
of  food,  and  one  of  great  value  in  the  country,  where 
the  appetite  is  sharpened  by  open  air  and  hard  work. 
Only  it  is  not  in  the  form  of  bread  that  it  best  yields 
its  nourishment,  but  rather  in  that  of  porridge,  or 
boiled  meal  and  water.*' 


CHAPTER  II 


THE    HISTORY    OF    TOBACCO 

BEFORE  taking  the  form  of  the  powder  which 
the  user  of  snuff  pushes  up  into  his  nose  to 
tickle  his  nostrils  and  promote  sneezing,  before  being 
rolled  into  the  cigar  or  reduced  to  that  crisp,  moss- 
like  substance  which  the  smoker  stuffs  into  his  pipe, 
tobacco  has  had  a  previous  existence  as  a  plant  bear- 
ing this  same  name.  A  stalk  about 
one  meter  in  height,  large,  clammy 
leaves  of  a  strong  odor,  bright  red 
flowers  each  shaped  like  a  narrow 
funnel  and  expanding  into  the  five 
points  of  a  star  at  the  orifice,  dry 
capsules  filled  with  innumerable 
little  seeds — there  you  have  the  to- 
bacco plant. 

"Only  the  leaves  are  used,  and 
these  only  after  undergoing  certain 
processes  that  intensify  their  natural  properties  and 
cause  them  to  lose  their  green  color.  Rolled  into 
compact  little  cylinders,  they  become  cigars;  cut 
very  fine,  they  take  the  form  of  smoking  tobacco. 
Reduced  to  powder,  they  furnish  what  is  known  as 
snuff. 

"America,  the  same  land  to  which  we  owe  the 
11 


Tobacco  Plant 


1*  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

potato,  also  gave  us  tobacco.  When,  almost  four 
centuries  ago,  Christopher  Columbus  discovered  the 
new  world,  one  of  the  first  landings  he  made  was  on 
the  large  island  of  Cuba.  Apprehensive  of  danger 
in  the  forests  from  the  savage  tribes  on  every  side, 
Columbus  sent  scouts  ahead  to  reconnoitre-  the  coun- 
try. 

"The  sailors  forming  this  party  encountered  on 
the  way,  to  their  extreme  surprise,  numerous  Indi- 
ans, both  men  and  women,  holding  each  a  sort  of 
lighted  fire-brand  between  the  teeth  and  inhaling  the 
smoke.  These  fire-brands,  called  'tabagos,'  were 
made  of  a  plant  rolled  up  in  a  dry  leaf.  There,  then, 
were  the  first  smokers  and  the  first  cigars  recorded 
in  history. 

"The  natives  of  Cuba  and  the  neighboring  islands 
had,  we  infer,  been  addicted  to  smoking  for  a  long 
time,  probably  for  centuries,  when  the  Europeans 
first  appeared  among  them.  They  had  their  rolls  of 
dry  leaves,  or  tabagos,  and  their  smoking  appliances 
of  soft  stone  or  baked  clay,  appliances  called  by  us 
'pipes'  and  by  them  'calumets.'  Tobacco,  in  fact, 
played  a  prominent  part  in  their  medicine,  their  su- 
perstitious observances,  and  their  political  assem- 
blies. 

"Consulted  as  to  future  events,  the  soothsayer 
first  of  all  inhaled  the  smoke  of  several  tabagos, 
while  the  other  persons  present,  seated  in  a  circle, 
vied  with  one  another  in  the  energy  of  their  smoking, 
their  ultimate  object  being  to  enwrap  themselves  in 
a  dense  cloud.  Then  from  the  midst  of  this  cloud 


THE  HISTORY  OF  TOBACCO       13 

the  soothsayer,  his  imagination  wrought  to  a  high 
pitch  by  the  fumes  of  the  tobacco,  delivered  his  ora- 
cles in  unwonted  terms  that  -made  the  hearers  be- 
lieve they  were  listening  to  the  voice  of  God. 

"A  like  ceremony  was  observed  in  the  assemblies 
held  for  discussing  public  affairs.  Seated  on  a  stone 
and  inhaling  the  smoke  from  his  calumet,  the  orator 
who  was  about  to  take  the  floor  waited  in  passive 
silence  while  the  chiefs  of  the  nation  approached 
him,  one  at  a  time,  to  blow  into  his  face  plenteous 
puffs  from  their  pipes  and  to  commend  to  him  the 
interests  of  the  tribe.  These  fumigations  concluded, 
the  orator  abandoned  himself  to  his  eloquence  amid 
the  enthusiastic  acclaim  of  the  assembly. 

"  Seeing  the  islanders  smoking,  Columbus  'a  com- 
panions wished  to  try  this  singular  custom  for  them- 
selves. To  the  gratification  of  this  desire  the  Indian 
lent  his  ready  assistance:  he  showed  them  how  the 
tabago  is  rolled,  and  how  the  calumet  is  filled  and 
lighted.  Though  history  is  silent  on  the  subject,  it 
is  clear  that  the  first  sailor  to  undertake  the  inhala- 
tion must  have  been  seized  with  that  fearful  nausea 
which  no  novice  in  smoking  can  escape.  A  stomach 
of  any  delicacy  would  have  been  forever  repelled; 
the  harsh  gullet  of  the  mariner  found  a  certain 
charm  in  the  thing  when  once  the  trying  experiences 
of  initiation  were  over. 

' '  The  taste  for  smoking  was  so  soon  acquired  that, 
on  their  return  to  Spain,  the  companions  of  Colum- 
bus very  quickly  extended  this  Indian  custom  in  their 
own  country.  Before  long,  too,  there  was  discov- 


14  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

ered  a  new  way  to  use  tobacco :  some  one  conceived 
the  idea  of  reducing  the  leaf  to  a  dry  powder  and 
stuffing  it  into  the  nostrils,  sniffing  with  each  pinch 
of  the  powdered  substance.  The  Indian  had  dis- 
covered smoking  tobacco ;  the  European  in  his  turn 
invented  snuff. 

"Spain  and  Portugal  numbered  their  smokers  and 
snuff-takers  by  the  thousand  when,  in  1560,  tobacco 
made  its-  first  appearance  in  France.  Nicot,  French 
ambassador  at  Lisbon,  sent  as  an  object  of  curiosity 
to  his  sovereign  queen,  Catherine  de  Medicis,  some 
seeds  of  the  fashionable  plant  and  a  box  of  tobacco 
in  powdered  form.  Charmed  with  this  gift,  the 
queen  quickly  contracted  the  habit  of  taking  snuff. 
To  please  her,  tobacco  was  cultivated,  and  snuff- 
takers  soon  became  numerous  in  all  the  provinces. 
It  was  said  that  a  certain  great  personage  of  the 
period  took  as  much  as  three  ounces  daily.  He  cer- 
tainly must  have  had  his  nose  well  tanned. 

"From  one  nation  to  another  the  use  of  tobacco 
gradually  spread,  but  not  without  serious  opposi- 
tion. The  Turks  are  to-day  passionately  addicted  to 
smoking,  extremely  fond  of  their  long  pipes;  yet 
hear  what  sort  of  a  reception  they  at  first  gave  to 
tobacco.  Against  smokers  and  snuff-takers  their 
emperor,  Amurat,  issued  an  edict  severe  to  the  point 
of  cruelty.  Every  delinquent  was  condemned  to  re- 
ceive fifty  strokes  with  the  rod  on  the  soles  of  his 
feet." 

"That  ought  to  have  driven  tobacco  out  of  the 
country  in  short  order,"  remarked  Jules. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  TOBACCO  15 

"That  was  merely  a  warning  to  first  offenders," 
returned  his  uncle.  "For  a  second  offense  the  luck- 
less person  caught  in  the  act  had  his  nose  cut  off. 
It  was  a  radical  measure  to  discourage  the  snuff- 
taker  :  no  more  nose,  no  more  snuff.  But  the  smok- 
ers, after  this  horrible  mutilation,  persisted  in  their 
smoking. 

* '  A  king  of  Persia  devised  what  he  thought  would 
cure  even  this  habit:  every  one  caught  with  a  pipe 
in  his  mouth  had  his  upper  lip  cut  off.  At  the  same 
time,  of  course,  every  nose  proved  guilty  of  snuff- 
taking  fell  under  the  executioner's  knife.  But  the 
atrocious  edict  of  the  Persian  king  proved  as  futile 
as  that  of  the  Turkish  emperor.  Despite  all  the 
noses  struck  off,  all  the  lips  cut  away,  all  the  feet 
made  to  tingle  under  the  rod,  the  use  of  tobacco  still 
continued  to  spread.  These  fruitless  severities  had 
to  be  abandoned. 

* '  Other  regulations  sprang  up  here  and  there,  less 
cruel,  but  sufficiently  fruitful  in  fines,  imprison- 
ments, vexations  of  all  sorts.  Still  nothing  was  of 
any  avail;  smokers  and  snuff-takers  remained  in- 
corrigible. Finally,  taking  wiser  counsel,  the  gov- 
ernment authorities  conceived  a  plan  for  making 
this  passion,  which  no  severity  had  been  able  to  sub- 
due, yield  them  large  revenues.  The  government 
itself  became  exclusive  vender  of  the  very  article  it 
had  at  first  proscribed  with  such  rigor.  France 
alone  derives  a  yearly  revenue  of  almost  three  hun- 
dred million  francs  from  the  sale  of  tobacco." 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   ORIGIN   OF   FERTILE   SOIL 

FERTILE  or  arable  soil,"  resumed  Uncle  Paul, 
"constitutes  only  the  surface  layer  of  earth, 
that  which  is  worked  by  the  farmer's  implements 
and  yields  nutriment  to  the  roots  of  plants  and  pro- 
motes their  development.  In  one  place  you  will  see 
bare  rocks  and  utter  barrenness;  in  another  you 
find  fertile  soil  to  a  depth  of  an  inch  or  two,  scantily 
carpeted  with  grass;  and  again,  in  a  third,  you 
come  upon  rich  earth  so  deep  as  to  maintain  abun- 
dant vegetation.  But  nowhere  does  this  fertile 
layer  have  an  indefinite  thickness :  at  a  depth  never 
very  considerable  a  subsoil  having  the  qualities  of 
the  neighboring  mountains  is  sure  to  be  found. 
How  then  has  there  come  to  be  formed  this  layer  of 
earth  whence  is  derived  all  the  nutriment  required 
by  plants,  animals,  and  men! 

"Undermined  all  winter,  and  even  the  whole  year 
round  on  high  mountains,  by  the  ice  that  forms  in 
their  slightest  fissures,  rocks  of  all  kinds  break  into 
small  fragments,  divide  into  grains  of  sand,  fall  into 
dust,  and  furnish  the  powdery  mineral  matter  which 
the  rain  washes  away  and  deposits  in  the  valleys. 
This  as  a  rule  is  the  origin  of  broken  stones,  sand, 
clay,  and  fertile  soil.  Ice  by  its  expansive  force  has 

16 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  FERTILE  SOIL  17 

detached  them  from  the  tops  of  mountains  and  the 
waters  have  swept  them  away  and  carried  them  fur- 
ther. One  can  form  an  idea  of  the  action  of  ice  in 
crumbling  rocks  to  make  soil  of  them  and  enrich 
the  valleys,  by  examining  the  surface  of  a  hard  road 
at  the  moment  of  thawing. 

"Firm  underfoot  before  freezing,  this  surface 
loses  its  firmness  after  a  thaw  and  is  pushed  up  here 
and  there  in  little  finely-powdered  clods.  At  the 
moment  of  freezing,  the  humidity  with  which  the  soil 
was  impregnated  turned  into  ice  which,  increasing 
in  volume,  reduced  to  fine  particles  the  surface  layer 
of  the  road.  When  the  thaw  comes,  these  particles 
which  the  ice  no  longer  holds  together  form  first 
mud,  then  dust.  In  exactly  this  manner  arable  land 
was  formed  by  the  disintegration  of  rocks  of  all 
kinds,  which  were  reduced  to  particles  by  the  action 
of  frost. 

"But  soil  suitable  for  agriculture  contains  not  only 
powdery  mineral  matter,  but  also  a  little  mold  from 
the  decomposition  of  vegetable  matter.  To  give  you 
an  idea  of  the  causes  which  from  the  very  earliest 
times  have  little  by  little  fertilized  this  rock-dust 
with  vegetable  mold,  let  us  take  the  following  ex- 
ample. 

"Geography  has  taught  you  what  a  volcano  is. 
It  is  a  mountain  whose  summit  is  hollowed  out  in  an 
immense  funnel-shaped  excavation  called  a  crater. 
From  time  to  time  the  ground  trembles  near  a  vol- 
cano and  formidable  noises  similar  to  the  rolling 
of  thunder  and  the  booming  of  cannon  are  heard 


18  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

from  the  depths  of  the  mountain.  The  crater  throws 
up  into  the  air  a  lofty  column  of  smoke,  dark  by 
day,  fiery  red  at  night.  All  at  once  the  mountain  is 
rent  and  vomits  up  through  the  crevices  a  stream  of 
fire,  a  current  of  melted  rock,  or  lava.  Finally  the 
volcano  quiets  down ;  the  source  of  the  terrible  flood 
dries  up.  The  streams  of  lava  harden  and  cease 
running;  and  after  a  lapse  of  time  which  may  be 
years  they  become  quite  cold.  Now  what  is  to  be- 
come of  this  enormous  bed  of  black  stone  similar  in 
character  to  the  slag  from  a  forge?  What  will  this 
sheet  of  lava  covering  an  area  of  several  square 
miles  produce? 

"This  desolate,  blasted  expanse  seems  destined 
never  to  be  clothed  with  verdure.  But  in  any  such 
asumption  one  would  be  mistaken.  After  centuries 
and  centuries  a  vigorous  growth  of  oaks,  beeches, 
and  other  large  trees  will  have  taken  root  there.  In 
fact,  you  will  see  that  air,  rain,  snow,  and,  above  all, 
frost  attack  in  turn  the  hard  surface  of  the  lava, 
detach  fine  particles  from  it,  and  slowly  produce  a 
little  dust  at  its  expense.  On  this  dust  there  will 
spring  into  being  certain  strange  and  hardy  plants, 
those  white  or  yellow  patches,  those  vegetable  in- 
crustations, calculated  to  live  on  the  surface  of  stone 
and  known  as  lichens.  These  lichens  fasten  them- 
selves to  the  lava,  gnaw  it  still  more,  and  in  dying 
leave  a  little  mold  formed  from  their  decaying  re- 
mains. On  this  precious  mold,  lodged  in  some  cav- 
ity of  the  lava,  there  is  now  a  growth  of  mosses 
which  perish  in  their  turn  and  increase  the  quantity 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  FERTILE  SOIL  19 

of  fertilizing  material.  Next  come  ferns,  which  re- 
quire a  richer  soil,  and  after  that  a  few  tufts  of 
grass;  then  some  brambles,  some  meager  shrubs; 
and  thus  with  each  succeeding  year  the  fertile  soil  is 
added  to  from  the  new  remnants  of  lava  and  mold 
left  by  the  preceding  generation  of  plants  that  have 
gone  to  decay.  It  is  in  this  way  that  gradually  a 
lava-bed  finally  becomes  covered  with  a  forest. 

"Our  own  arable  land  had  a  similar  origin.  Ster- 
ile rocks,  hard  as  they  are,  contributed  the  mineral 
part  by  being  reduced  to  dust  through  the  combined 
action  of  water,  air,  and  frost;  and  the  successive 
generations  of  plant-life,  beginning  with  the  sim- 
plest, furnished  the  mold. 

'  *  Notice  how  admirably,  in  the  processes  of  nature, 
the  smallest  of  created  beings  perform  their  part 
and  contribute  as  best  they  can  to  the  general  har- 
mony. To  produce  fertile  soil  there  is  needed  some- 
thing more  than  the  frosts  and  thaws  that  crumble 
the  hardest  rock:  there  is  need  of  plants  hardy 
enough  to  live  on  this  sterile  soil,  such  as  tough 
grasses,  mosses,  lichens,  which  gnaw  the  stone.  It 
is  through  the  medium  of  these  rudimentary  plants, 
so  pitiful  in  appearance  and  yet  so  hardy,  that  the 
dust  of  the  rocks  is  enriched  with  mold  and  converted 
into  a  soil  capable  of  bearing  other  and  more  delicate 
plants. 

"It  is  not  in  cultivated  fields  that  you  will  find 
those  thick  carpets  of  mosses  and  lichens,  valiant 
disintegrators  of  stone;  it  is  on  the  mountain-tops 
that  they  can  be  seen  at  their  work  of  crusting  over 


20  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

the  smooth  rock  in  order  to  convert  it  into  fertile 
soil.  It  is  from  these  heights  that  this  fertile  soil 
has  descended,  little  by  little,  washed  down  by  the 
rain,  until  it  has  fertilized  the  valleys.  This  work  is 
going  on  all  the  time ;  in  hilly  regions  plants  of  the 
lowest  order  are  constantly  adding  to  the  extent  of 
arable  land.  The  little  threads  of  rain-water  that 
furrow  these  regions  carry  away  with  them  some  of 
this  humus  and  bear  it  to  the  plains  below. 

"What  a  worthy  subject  for  our  thoughtful  study 
is  this  formation  of  arable  soil  by  these  legions  of 
inferior  plants,  obscure  workers  indefatigably  crum- 
bling the  rock !  What  immense  results  obtained  by 
the  simplest  means ! ' ' 


CHAPTER  IV 

DIFFERENT   KINDS   OF   SOIL 

FOUR  substances,  mingled  in  very  variable  pro- 
portions, enter  into  the  composition  of  fertile 
soil,  or  arable  land,  namely:  sand  or  silica,  clay, 
limestone,  and  humus,  or  vegetable  mold.  Each  one 
of  these  ingredients  separately  would  make  but  very 
poor  soil,  quite  unsuited  for  agriculture ;  but  united, 
mixed  together,  they  fulfil  the  conditions  necessary 
to  fertility.  Arable  land  generally  contains  all  four, 
with  the  predominance  sometimes  of  one,  sometimes 
of  another.  The  soil  takes  the  name  of  its  most 
abundant  constituent.  Thus  have  arisen  the  names, 
silicious  soil,  argillaceous  soil,  calcareous  soil,  and 
humous  soil,  to  designate  the  fertile  lands  dominated 
respectively  by  sand,  clay,  limestone,  and  humus. 
Compound  terms  are  also  used.  For  example,  when 
it  is  said  of  a  certain  soil  that  it  is  argillo-calcareous, 
it  is  meant  that  clay  and  limestone  are  its  chief  con- 
stituents. 

''Sand  consists  of  particles,  more  or  less  minute, 
of  very  hard  rock,  sometimes  opaque,  sometimes  as 
transparent  as  glass,  and  always  easily  recognizable 
by  its  property  of  emitting  sparks  when  struck  with 
steel.  Flint  and  white  pebbles  belong  to  this  kind 
of  rock,  which  is  called  silex,  silica,  or  quartz. 

21 


22  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

These  three  expressions  mean  about  the  same. 
Sandy  soils  have  little  consistency,  are  easily  perme- 
ated by  water,  and  freely  absorb  the  sun's  heat, 
which  makes  them  very  subject  to  drought. 

4 'The  name  of  granite  is  given  to  a  rock  composed 
chiefly  of  silica  and  which  forms  whole  mountains, 
as  in  central  France  and  in  Brittany.  The  soil 
formed  by  the  gradual  disintegration  of  this  rock  is 
sometimes  called  granite  soil.  It  is  not  very  good 
for  agriculture.  Chestnut  trees  prosper  in  it,  as 
well  as  certain  wild  plants  characteristic  of  this  kind 
of  land.  The  principal  ones  are  the  various  species 
of  heather  and  the  purple  digitalis.  Heather,  with 
its  dainty  little  pink  blossoms,  carpets  in  richest 
abundance  the  poorest  of  sandy  soils.  The  purple 
digitalis  is  a  large-leaved  plant  whose  flowers,  red 
on  the  outside,  striped  with  purple  and  white  inside, 
are  arranged  in  a  long  and  magnificent  distaff  reach- 
ing almost  to  the  height  of  a  man.  The  flowers  are 
in  the  shape  of  long  tun-bellied  bells  or,  rather,  glove- 
fingers;  hence  the  plant  is  sometimes  called  fox- 
glove, sometimes  lady's  fingers. 

"The  soil  composed  of  substances  thrown  up  by 
volcanoes  is  also  sandy,  and  is  called  volcanic  soil. 
It  is  generally  black  and  sometimes  very  fertile. 

"Sandy-clay  soil  is  found  in  the  valleys  of  great 
rivers.  It  is  the  most  fruitful  and  the  easiest  to 
cultivate.  Such  are  the  soils  of  the  Rhone  valley, 
the  valley  of  the  Loire,  and  that  of  the  Seine.  It  is 
still  more  fertile  if  it  is  flooded  by  the  stream  at 
high  water.  Then  the  river  deposits  a  rich  slime 


DIFFERENT  KINDS  OF  SOIL  23 

composed  of  clay  and  organic  matter  washed  down 
by  the  current. 

"The  soil  of  heathy  or  shrubby  land  is  composed 
of  fine  sand  and  of  humus  from  the  decayed  leaves 
of  heather  and  other  plants.  It  is  only  used  for 
flower  gardens,  and  furnishes  an  example  of  what 
might  be  called  sand-and-humus  soil. 

1  *  Clay  is  a  soil  which,  when  moistened  with  water 
and  thoroughly  kneaded,  becomes  a  soft  and  tena- 
cious dough,  suitable  for  molding  into  any  desired 
shape.  When  perfectly  pure  it  is  white,  and  is 
known  as  kaolin,  a  rare  substance  of  which  porcelain 
is  made.  Plastic  clays  are  those  that  are  unctuous 
to  the  touch,  forming  with  water  a  yielding  mass  that 
hardens  with  firing.  They  are  used  in  making  pot- 
tery. Smectite,  or  fuller's  earth,  is  a  clay  of  very 
different  character,  not  pliable  when  moistened,  but 
very  absorbent  of  grease  and  hence  used  by  fullers 
for  cleansing  cloth  of  the  oil  left  on  it  in  weaving. 
Ochres  are  clays  colored  either  red  or  yellow  by  iron- 
rust.  They  are  used  in  coarse  painting.  Red  chalk 
belongs  to  this  class  of  clays.  Marl  is  a  mixture  in 
variable  proportions  of  clay  and  limestone.  Accord- 
ing to  which  constituent  predominates,  it  is  called 
argillaceous  or  calcareous.  Subjected  to  the  action 
of  air  and  moisture,  marl  becomes  flaky  and  crumbles 
to  dust.  Marl  is  used  in  agriculture  to  improve  the 
soil. 

"A  clay  soil  is  quite  the  opposite  of  a  sandy  soil: 
water  makes  it  swell  and  converts  it  into  a  sticky 
paste  which  clings  tenaciously  to  farming  imple- 


84  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

ments.  Once  wet,  it  is  cold,  that  is  to  say  it  dries 
very  slowly.  A  spade  can  only  divide  it  into  dense 
clods  slow  to  crumble  in  the  air  and  not  fit  for  re- 
ceiving seed.  The  farmer  must  be  careful  to  drain 
off  the  water  and  break  up  the  ground  by  working 
it  before  and  during  frosts.  It  is  improved  by  mix- 
ing with  it  sand,  coal-ashes,  and  lime.  Wheat  flour- 
ishes better  in  a  clayey  soil  than  in  any  other  kind. 

"Clayey  soils  are  recognized  by  their  vegetation. 
The  wild  plants  peculiar  to  this  kind  of  soil  are 
colt's-foot  and  danewort.  Colt's-foot  is  also  called 
horse-foot  from  the  shape  of  its  leaves,  the  outline  of 
which  reminds  one  of  a  horse's  hoof.  The  leaves 
are  white  underneath.  The  flowers  are  yellow  like 
little  marigolds,  and  they  appear  at  the  beginning  of 
spring  before  the  leaves.  Danewort  is  a  kind  of 
herbaceous  elder  of  about  half  the  height  of  a  man. 
Its  small  white  flowers  are  succeeded  by  berries  full 
of  a  violet-red  juice." 


CHAPTER  V 

DIFFERENT   KINDS   OF   SOU, 

( Continued ) 

LIMESTONE  is  the  rock  from  which  lime  is 
obtained.  It  is  composed  of  carbonic  acid 
and  lime.  To  obtain  the  latter,  the  limestone  is  sub- 
jected to  intense  heat  in  a  furnace  or  lime-kiln.  The 
carbonic  acid  escapes,  is  dissipated  in  the  air,  and 
only  the  lime  remains.  In  arable  land  limestone  is 
found  rather  often  in  smaller  or  larger  pieces,  but 
more  frequently  as  a  fine  powder  which  the  eye 
can  scarcely  distinguish  from  the  other  constituents, 
especially  clay.  The  water  of  rivers  and  other 
streams  almost  always  contains  a  small  proportion 
of  dissolved  limestone.  Thence  comes  the  thin  layer 
of  stone  that  accumulates  little  by  little  on  the  in- 
ner surface  of  bottles,  coating  the  glass.  Some  wa- 
ters contain  enough  of  this  dissolved  limestone  to 
deposit  a  mineral  crust  on  objects  immersed  in  them, 
as  mosses  and  aquatic  plants,  and  to  obstruct  their 
aqueducts.  The  clearest  water,  in  which  no  foreign 
substance  can  be  seen,  absolutely  none,  nevertheless 
contains  dissolved  limestone,  just  as  sweetened  water 
contains  invisible  sugar.  In  drinking  a  glass  of 
water  we  drink  a  little  stone  at  the  same  time.  Our 
body,  in  order  to  grow  strong  and  increase  in  size, 

25 


26  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

needs  corfsiderable  calcareous  matter  for  the  forma- 
tion of  bones,  which  are  to  us  what  its  solid  frame- 
work is  to  a  building.  This  material,  so  necessary  to 
us,  is  not  created  by  us ;  we  obtain  it  from  our  food 
and  drink.  Water  plays  its  part  in  furnishing  this 
limestone,  which  it  furnishes  also  to  plants ;  they  all 
contain  a  greater  or  less  proportion  of  this  mineral 
matter. 

1 1  Calcareous  soils  -are  whitish  from  their  chief  con- 
stituent, chalk.  Entirely  sterile  when  the  propor- 
tion of  limestone  is  excessive,  they  are  tolerably  pro- 
ductive when  clay  is  added.  They  are  especially 
suitable  for  vineyards  and  for  raising  lucerne,  sain- 
foin, and  clover.  Champagne  and  the  south  of 
France  offer  examples  of  this  kind  of  soil.  Its  prin- 
cipal varieties  are  chalky  soil,  which  is  nearly  ster- 
ile, containing  as  much  as  ninety-five  per  cent  of 
chalk,  and  marly  soil  which  is  composed  of  clay  and 
chalk. 

"The  plant-life  characteristic  of  calcareous  soils 
comprises  the  box-tree,  whose  compact  and  fine- 
grained wood  is  so  esteemed  by  turners;  the  wild 
cornel,  whose  red,  olive-shaped  fruit  is  one  of  the 
best-liked  autumn  products  that  nature  offers  us; 
and  the  alkekengi,  or  winter  cherry,  whose  yellow 
berries  are  used  for  coloring  butter.  These  berries 
are  encased  in  a  large,  gorgeously  red  membranous 
bag. 

"Wood,  leaves,  herbage,  left  a  long  time  in  contact 
with  air  and  moisture,  undergo  a  slow  combustion ; 
in  other  words,  they  rot.  The  result  of  this  decom- 


DIFFERENT  KINDS  OF  SOIL  27 

position  is  a  brown  substance  called  humus  or  vege- 
table mold.  The  heart  of  old  hollow  willows  is  con- 
verted into  humus;  it  is  the  same  with  leaves  that 
fall  from  the  trees  and  rot  on  the  ground.  Humus 
from  the  remains  of  earlier  generations  of  plant-life 
nourishes  the  plant-life  of  to-day,  and  this  in  turn 
will  become  mold  from  which  future  plants  will 
spring.  It  is  in  this  way  that  vegetation  is  main- 
tained in  places  not  cultivated  by  man.  Humus, 
then,  is  nature's  manure.  Where  it  is  allowed  to 
form  freely,  vegetation  never  loses  its  vigor,  using 
over  and  over  again  the  same  material,  which  takes 
alternately  the  two  forms  of  plant  and  humus.  But 
hay  from  the  field  is  stored  in  the  hay-loft,  and  the 
annual  harvest  of  wheat  is  taken  to  the  granary. 
Thus  the  land  is  robbed  of  the  mold  that  would  be 
formed  naturally  by  the  rotting  of  this  hay  and 
wheat;  therefore  we  must  give  back  to  it,  under 
some  form  or  other,  this  mold  that  has  been  taken 
away,  since  otherwise  the  soil  will  become  less  and 
less  productive  until  finally  it  is  quite  sterile.  This 
restitution  is  made  in  the  form  of  animal  manure, 
which  is  a  sort  of  humus  produced  by  digestive  proc- 
esses instead  of  by  natural  decay. 

"Humus  plays  a  twofold  part  in  the  soil.  First, 
it  mellows  the  land,  or  in  other  words  makes  it  more 
easily  permeable  by  air  and  water.  Secondly,  by  the 
slow  combustion  taking  place  in  the  humus  there  is 
constantly  being  liberated  a  small  quantity  of  car- 
bonic acid  gas,  which  is  taken  up  by  the  adjacent 
roots.  Agriculture  can  succeed  only  in  so  far  as  the 


28  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

soil  contains  humus.  Wheat  requires  nearly  eight 
per  cent,  oats  and  rye  only  two  per  cent.  In  poor, 
sandy  soils,  to  increase  the  amount  of  vegetable 
mold,  it  is  customary  to  plow  certain  green  crops 
under,  as  the  farmers  express  it ;  that  is,  the  surface 
soil  is  turned  over  and  the  growing  crop  intended 
for  manuring  purposes  is  buried  and  left  to  decay 
in  the  ground.  That  is  what  is  done  when  the  plow- 
man turns  under  a  field  of  growing  grass  or  a  stretch 
of  clover.  When  it  is  proposed  to  improve  a  piece 
of  land  by  this  process,  it  is  the  practice  to  begin  by 
raising  a  crop  (which  will  later  be  turned  under) 
that  derives  the  greater  part  of  its  nourishment  from 
the  air,  since  the  soil  in  this  instance  cannot  of  itself 
furnish  this  nourishment.  Among  the  plants  satis- 
fying these  conditions  are  buckwheat,  clover,  lupine, 
beans,  vetches,  lucerne,  and  sainfoin. 

"  Soils  rich  in  humus  have  for  their  chief  constitu- 
ent the  brown  substance  that  results  from  the  decay- 
ing of  leaves  and  other  vegetable  matter.  Turf  land 
stands  first  as  rich  in  humus.  Turf  is  a  dark, 
spongy  substance  that  forms  in  moist  lowlands  from 
the  accumulation  of  vegetable  refuse,  especially 
mosses.  Turf,  or  peat,  as  it  is  also  called,  is  used 
for  fuel.  To  turn  such  a  soil  to  account,  it  must  first 
be  made  wholesome  by  drainage,  it  must  be  mellowed 
by  paring  and  burning  and  by  the  addition  of  sand 
and  marl,  and  a  proportion  of  lime  must  be  mixed 
in  to  hasten  the  decomposition  of  all  vegetable  mat- 
ter. Turf  lands  are  recognized  by  their  sphagnei, 


DIFFERENT  KINDS  OF  SOIL  29 

great  mosses  that  grow  with  their  roots  in  the  water ; 
and  by  their  flax-like  sedges,  from  the  tops  of  which 
hang  beautiful  tufts  of  down  having  the  softness  and 
whiteness  of  the  finest  silk." 


CHAPTER  VI 

POTASH   AND  PHOSPHORUS 

LET  us  burn  a  plant,  no  matter  what  kind.  The 
first  effect  of  the  heat  is  to  produce  carbon, 
which,  mixed  with  other  substances,  constituted  the 
plant.  If  combustion  continues,  this  carbon  is  dissi- 
pated in  the  air  in  the  form  of  carbonic  acid  gas,  and 
there  remains  an  earthy  residue  which  we  call  ashes. 
Here  then  are  two  kinds  of  material,  carbon  and 
ashes,  which  without  exception  enter  into  all  plant- 
life.  The  plant  did  not  create  them,  did  not  make 
them  out  of  nothing,  since  it  is  impossible  to  obtain 
something  from  nothing.  It  must,  then,  have  de- 
rived them  from  some  source.  We  shall  take  up  be- 
fore long  the  subject  of  coal  and  its  origin,  and  shall 
find  that  it  comes  chiefly  from  the  atmosphere, 
whence  the  leaves  obtain  carbonic  acid  gas,  which 
they  decompose  under  the  action  of  the  sun's  rays, 
retaining  the  carbon  and  throwing  off  tbe  air  in  a 
condition  fit  for  breathing.  The  vegetation  of  the 
entire  earth  thus  finds  its  principal  nutriment  in  the 
atmosphere,  an  inexhaustible  and  increasingly  abun- 
dant reservoir,  because  the  respiration  of  animals, 
putrefaction,  and  combustion  are  continually  giving 
forth  as  much  carbonic  acid  gas  as  the  combined 
plant-life  of  the  earth  can  consume.  To  maintain 

30 


POTASH  AND  PHOSPHORUS  31 

the  fertility  of  his  fields,  therefore,  the  farmer  need 
not  give  a  thought  to  the  su'bject  of  carbon;  with  no 
assistance  from  him  his  growing  crops  find  in  the  air 
all  the  carbonic  acid  gas  they  require.  There  re- 
mains for  our  consideration,  then,  the  residue  left 
after  combustion,  the  ashes  in  fact,  a  mixture  of  vari- 
ous substances  of  which  we  will  now  examine  the 
most  important. 

* '  Let  us  put  a  few  handf uls  of  ashes  to  boil  in  a 
pot  of  water.  After  boiling  a  little  while  we  will 
let  the  contents  cool.  The  ashes  settle  to  the  bottom 
and  the  liquid  at  the  top  becomes  clear.  Well,  we 
shall  find  this  liquid  emitting  a  peculiar  odor,  exactly 
like  that  which  comes  from  the  lye  obtained  'by  pass- 
ing water  through  a  barrel  of  ashes.  We  shall  also 
find  that  it  has  an  acrid,  almost  -burning  taste.  This 
smell  of  lye,  this  acrid  taste  were  not  in  the  water  at 
first ;  they  come  from  the  ashes,  which  have  yielded 
a  certain  constituent  to  the  water. 

"  Hence  we  see  that  ashes  must  contain  at  least 
two  substances  of  different  kinds,  of  which  the  prin- 
cipal one  cannot  dissolve  in  water,  but  settles  at  the 
bottom  as  an  earthy  deposit,  while  the  other,  form- 
ing but  a  very  small  part  of  the  whole,  dissolves 
easily  in  water  and  gives  it  its  properties,  espe- 
cially its  odor  and  its  acrid  taste. 

"If  we  wish  to  obtain  this  latter  element  by  itself, 
we  can  very  easily  do  so.  All  that  is  necessary  is  to 
put  the  clear  liquid  into  a  pot  over  tke  fire  and  boil 
it  until  all  the  water  has  evaporated.  There  will  be 
left  a  very  small  quantity  of  whitish  matter  resem- 


32  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

bling  table  salt.  But  despite  its  appearance  it  is  not 
table  salt  by  any  means;  far  from  it,  as  we  shall 
quickly  discover  from  its  unbearable  taste.  It  is 
known  as  potash,  and  it  is  what  makes  lye  so  good 
for  cleaning  linen.  Furthermore,  of  the  various 
components  of  ashes  it  is  the  one  most  essential  to 
vegetation.  Every  tree,  every  shrub,  every  plant, 
even  to  the  smallest  blade  of  grass,  contains  a  cer- 
tain proportion  of  it,  sometimes  larger,  sometimes 
smaller,  according  to  the  kind  of  plant-life,  and  there- 
fore must  find  it  in  the  soil  in  order  to  thrive.  Let 
us  add  that  in  growing  plants  potash  is  not  as  the 
action  of  fire  leaves  it  after  the  plants  have  been 
reduced  to  ashes.  In  nature  it  is  combined  with 
other  substances  which  free  it  from  that  burning 
acridity.  In  the  same  way  carbon,  when  combined 
with  other  elements,  loses  its  blackness  and  hard- 
ness ;  in  fact,  it  is  no  longer  common  coal. 

"What  else  is  there  in  ashes?  A  short  account  of 
the  matter  will  tell  us.  In  1(>69  there  lived  in  Ham- 
burg, Germany,  a  learned  old  man  named  Brandt, 
whose  head  was  a  little  turned  and  who  sought  to 
turn  common  metals  into  gold.  From  old  iron,  rusty 
nails,  and  worn-out  kettles,  he  hoped  to  produce  the 
precious  metal.  But  he  did  not  succeed  in  his  en- 
deavors, nor  was  it  destined  that  he  should  succeed, 
for  the  simple  reason  that  the  thing  is  impossible. 
Never  is  one  metal  changed  into  another.  When  he 
was  about  at  the  end  of  his  resources  he  took  it  into 
his  head  to  conceive  a  crowning  absurdity.  He 
imagined  that  in  urine  would  be  found  the  ingredient 


POTASH  AND  PHOSPHORUS  33 

capable  of  turning  all  metals  into  gold.  Behold  him, 
then,  boiling  urine,  evaporating  it,  and  cooking  the 
disgusting  sediment,  first  with  this,  then  with  that, 
until  at  last  one  evening  he  saw  something  shining  in 
his  phials.  It  was  not  gold,  but  something  more  use- 
ful: it  was  phosphorus,  which  to-day  gives  us  fire. 
Don 't  make  fun  of  old  Brandt  and  his  foolish  cook- 
ing: in  seeking  the  impossible  he  made  one  of  the 
most  important  discoveries.  To  him  we  owe  the  sul- 
phur match,  that  precious  source  of  light  and  fire  so 
easily  and  quickly  used. 

"If  you  examine  a  sulphur  match  you  will  see  that 
the  inflammable  tip  contains  two  substances:  sul- 
phur, laid  on  to  the  wood,  and  another  substance 
added  to  the  sulphur.  This  last  is  phosphorus,  col- 
ored with  a  blue,  red,  or  brown  powder,  according  to 
the  caprice  of  the  manufacturer.  Phosphorus  by  it- 
self is  slightly  yellow  in  color  and  translucent  like 
wax.  Its  name  means 'light-bearer.'  When  rubbed 
gently  between  the  fingers  in  the  dark,  it  does  indeed 
give  out  a  pale  gleam.  At  the  same  time  there  is  a 
smell  of  garlic;  it  is  the  odor  of  phosphorus.  This 
substance  is  excessively  inflammable :  with  very  little 
heat  or  with  slight  friction  against  a  hard  surface, 
it  catches  fire.  Henoe  its  use  in  the  manufacture  of 
matches. 

"Phosphorus  is  a  horribly  poisonous  substance. 
By  melting  a  little  of  it  in  grease  a  poison  can  be 
obtained  that  will  destroy  rats  and  mice.  Crusts  of 
bread  are  smeared  with  this  composition  and  exposed 
in  places  frequented  by  these  animals.  A  nibble  is 


34  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

enough  to  ensure  speedy  death.  Hence  you  perceive 
that  because  of  their  poisonous  nature  matches  are 
to  be  handled  with  extreme  care.  Contact  with  food 
might  produce  the  gravest  consequences." 


CHAPTER  VII 

PHOSPHATES   AND    NITROGEN 

PHOSPHORUS,  which  is  a  dangerous  poison,  as 
we  have  seen,  is  nevertheless  found  in  abun- 
dance in  the  bodies  of  all  animals.  It  occurs  in  the 
urine,  whence  Brandt  was  the  first  to  extract  it ;  it  is 
found  still  more  plentifully  in  the  bones,  and  from 
thence  it  is  now  obtained.  There  is  some  in  meat, 
in  milk,  and  in  cheese ;  also  in  plants,  notably  cereals ; 
hence  flour  and  bread  contain  it.  But  do  not  be 
alarmed:  we  shall  not  die  of  poison  like  the  rats 
that  have  nibbled  crusts  smeared  with  grease  and 
phosphorus." 

"But  why  not,"  asked  Emile,  "if  we  eat  it  as  the 
rats  do?" 

1  *  I  will  try  to  explain, ' '  replied  his  uncle.  * '  When 
two  or  more  substances  are  mixed  together,  they  lose 
their  original  properties,  while  the  new  substance 
obtained  by  their  combination  is  found  to  possess 
new  properties  having  nothing  in  common  with  the 
old  ones.  Thus  carbon,  when  combined  with  the  air 
that  we  breathe,  becomes  an  invisible  gas,  subtle,  and 
unfit  for  breathing.  In  like  manner  lime,  burning  to 
the  taste,  is  converted  by  union  with  carbonic  acid 
gas  into  chalk,  a  calcareous  stone  void  of  taste.  Fur- 
thermore, poisonous  substances,  deadly  in  a  very 

35 


36  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

small  dose,  may  become  harmless  and  even  enter  into 
the  composition  of  our  food  when  they  are  combined 
with  other  substances.  Thus  it  is  with  phosphorus. 
What,  then,  is  united  with  phosphorus  in  the  form  in 
which  it  ceases  to  be  poisonous  and  enters  into  the 
composition  of  meat  and  flour?  That  is  what  we  will 
now  consider. 

"When  phosphorus  is  burned  it  produces  a  thick 
white  smoke,  of  which  you  can  get  some  idea  by 
striking  a  number  of  matches  all  at  once.  This  white 
smoke  with  the  slightest  trace  of  humidity  is  redu- 
cible to  an  extraordinarily  acid  liquid  called  phos- 
phoric acid.  Since  this  compound  results  from  the 
combustion  of  phosphorus,  just  as  carbonic  acid  is 
the  result  of  the  combustion  of  carbon,  it  must  and 
in  fact  does  contain  the  air  without  which  no  com- 
bustion can  take  place.  Phosphoric  acid  is  no  longer 
inflammable,  however  much  it  may  be  heated ;  being 
itself  the  product  of  combustion,  it  cannot  burn  'again. 
But  if  there  is  no  danger  of  its  catching  fire,  phos- 
phoric acid  is  nevertheless  dangerous  on  account  of 
its  intense  acidity,  which  makes  it  violently  corrosive 
in  its  action  on  flesh.  If  mixed  with  lime,  however, 
this  formidable  compound  loses  its  injurious  proper- 
ties and  is  changed  into  a  white  substance  without 
the  least  taste  or  the  slightest  poisonous  effect. 
This  substance  is  called  phosphate  of  lime.  Burnt 
phosphorus  and  lime,  thus  united,  furnish  the  greater 
part  of  the  mineral  matter  found  in  bones.  Put  a 
bone  into  the  fire :  the  grease  and  juices  that  perme- 
ate its  substance  will  be  burnt  up  and  the  bone  will 


PHOSPHATES  AND  NITROGEN  37 

lose  a  part  of  its  weight  and  become  friable  and  per- 
fectly white.  "Well,  this  bone,  calcined  in  the  fire 
for  a  long  time,  is  composed  chiefly  of  phosphate  of 
lime.  It  contains  phosphorus,  the  most  combustible 
of  substances,  and  yet  is  itself  absolutely  incombusti- 
ble ;  it  contains  one  of  the  most  poisonous  substances, 
and  yet  is  itself  quite  harmless ;  into  its  composition 
there  has  entered  an  ingredient  possessing  atrocious 
acidity,  and  yet  the  compound  itself  has  no  taste. 
Similarly  combined  and  equally  harmless,  phos- 
phorus is  found  in  meat,  milk,  cereals,  in  flour  and 
bread. 

"A  cow  can  furnish  each  week  about  70  liters  of 
milk  containing  460  grams  of  phosphate.  This  phos- 
phate comes  from  hay,  which  obtains  it  from  the  soil. 
But  as  the  soil  contains  only  a  moderate  quantity  of 
it,  and  the  hay  continually  takes  it  away,  the  supply 
will  at  last  become  exhausted  and  the  milk  will  be- 
come poorer  and  less  abundant.  If  a  kilogram  of 
powdered  bones,  containing  about  the  same  quantity 
of  phosphate  as  the  70  liters  of  milk,  is  spread  over 
the  pasture,  it  will  make  good  the  weekly  loss  in 
phosphate  that  the  soil  undergoes  in  the  production 
of  the  cow's  milk.  Hence  the  efficacy  of  powdered 
bones  on  exhausted  pasture  land. 

"  Phosphoric  acid  combined  with  other  substances 
is  found  in  all  our  agricultural  products,  and  hence 
the  phosphate  from  bones  has  a  very  marked  effect 
on  our  crops.  Harvests  have  been  doubled  as  if  by 
magic  through  the  use  of  powdered  bones.  A  kilo- 
gram of  this  powder  contains  enough  phosphoric 


38  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

acid  for  the  growth  of  a  hundred  kilograms  of  wheat. 
Despite  their  great  value  as  a  fertilizer  bones  will 
never  be  thus  used  except  to  a  limited  extent,  because 
they  are  not  abundant  enough  and  also  because  they 
are  much  in  demand  in  various  arts  and  manufac- 
tures. Fortunately  in  some  localities  phosphate  of 
lime  is  found  in  certain  coarse  pebbles  called  nodules 
or  coprolites.  These  precious  stones  are  carefully 
collected  and  ground  to  powder  in  a  mill.  Then,  in 
order  to  make  the  substance  more  soluble  in  damp 
soil,  and  thus  better  fitted  for  the  nutrition  of  plants, 
it  is  sprayed  with  an  extremely  corrosive  liquid 
called  sulphuric  acid  or,  more  commonly,  oil  of  vit- 
riol. In  this  way  is  obtained  the  superphosphate  of 
lime  which  manufacture  gives  to  agriculture  as  one 
of  the  most  powerful  of  fertilizers,  especially  for  the 
raising  of  grain. 

"We  were  wondering  a  little  while  ago  what  sub- 
stances could  be  contained  in  the  ashes  of  a  burnt 
plant,  and  we  have  now  found  potash  to  be  one  of 
them.  Moreover,  since  all  vegetation  must  have 
phosphate  in  order  to  thrive,  this  also  ought  to  be 
found  in  the  ashes,  phosphate  being  indestructible 
by  heat.  And,  in  fact,  after  the  incineration  of  any 
vegetable  matter  whatever,  as  a  bundle  of  hay  or  a 
handful  of  grain,  the  delicate  processes  of  science 
can  always  recover  this  compound  of  phosphorus; 
and  they  further  find  lime,  iron  in  the  form  of  rust, 
the  silicious  component  of  pebbles,  and  divers  other 
substances  of  less  interest. 


PHOSPHATES  AND  NITROGEN  39 

"To  finish  this  difficult  but  very  important  subject 
of  the  nutrition  of  plants,  I  must  say  a  few  words 
about  ammonia.  This  word  does  not  tell  you  any- 
thing since  it  is  a  new  word  to  you.  But  I  will  make 
its  meaning  clear  to  you  by  a  familiar  illustration. 

"You  must  have  noticed  the  strong,  penetrating 
odor  prevalent  in  ill-kept  water-closets;  and  you 
have  also  perceived  the  same  odor  when  soiled  gar- 
ments are  cleaned  with  a  certain  liquid  that  looks 
like  clear  water.  Well,  this  odor,  so  pungent  that  it 
almost  produces  the  effect  of  fine  needles  thrust  up 
into  the  nostrils  and  brings  tears  to  the  eyes,  is  the 
odor  of  ammonia. 

"Ammonia  is  an  invisible  gas  capable  of  being 
taken  up  in  large  quantities  by  water,  the  mixture 
being  known  as  aqua  ammonite,  or  water  of  ammonia. 
Combined  with  other  substances  ammonia  loses  its 
pungent  odor  and  forms  compounds  which  are  among 
the  most  effective  fertilizers.  These  compounds  fur- 
nish vegetation  with  one  of  its  essential  ingredients 
called  nitrogen.  By  itself  nitrogen  is  an  odorless 
and  colorless  gas.  In  this  state  it  forms  four-fifths 
of  the  volume  of  ordinary  air,  the  air  we  breathe. 
The  other  fifth  is  composed  of  a  second  gas  called 
oxygen,  also  colorless  and  odorless.  It  is  oxygen 
that  our  lungs  demand  when  we  breathe,  and  it  is 
oxygen  that  is  necessary  when  we  wish  to  burn  any- 
thing. It  is  this  alone  that  plays  its  invaluable  part 
in  the  combustion  of  certain  substances  in  our  blood 
and  in  the  generation  of  natural  heat ;  it  is  this  that 


40  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

in  the  process  of  combustion  releases  carbon,  phos- 
phorus, sulphur,  and  other  combustibles,  to  combine 
with  them  and  produce  a  compound  known  as  car- 
bonic acid  gas  in  the  case  of  burnt  carbon,  phos- 
phoric acid  in  the  case  of  phosphorus.  In  fact,  to 
it  belong  the  properties  that  we  have  until  now  at- 
tributed to  the  atmosphere  as  a  whole.  As  for 
nitrogen,  it  has  no  other  purpose  in  the  atmosphere 
than  to  moderate  by  its  presence  the  too  violent  ener- 
gies of  oxygen ;  it  plays  there  the  part  of  the  water 
that  we  put  into  too  strong  wine. 

"All  vegetation  requires  nitrogen.  Wheat,  for 
example,  must  have  it  to  develop  the  grain  in  the 
ear ;  peas,  beans,  lentils  demand  it  in  order  to  fill  out 
their  pods;  the  pasture  and  the  hay-field  need  it  if 
they  are  to  furnish  the  nutriment  that  the  sheep  and 
the  cow  will  transform  into  milk.  But  plants  can- 
not take  this  nitrogen  from  the  air,  where  it  is  so 
abundant ;  it  must  be  served  up  to  them  after  a  cer- 
tain necessary  preparation.  We  ourselves  need 
phosphorus,  since  it  enters  into  the  composition  of 
our  bones ;  we  need  carbon  still  more,  the  principal 
fuel  used  in  maintaining  the  heat  of  the  body.  But 
are  we  to  eat  the  charcoal  that  the  charcoal-burner 
manufactures  in  his  furnace,  and  the  phosphorus 
used  in  the  making  of  matches?  Certainly  not. 
The  first  would  be  a  frightful  mouthful,  the  second 
an  atrocious  poison.  We  must  have  them  prepared 
in  a  suitable  way,  such  as  they  are  found  in  bread, 
milk,  meat,  fruits,  vegetables.  In  the  same  manner 
plant-life  requires  nitrogen,  not  as  it  occurs  in  the 


PHOSPHATES  AND  NITROGEN  41 

atmosphere,  but  as  it  exists  in  certain  combinations, 
of  which  the  most  notable  are  the  compounds  of  am- 
monia. This  explains  to  us  the  highly  beneficial  ef- 
fect of  manure  on  our  crops.  Manure  is  composed 
of  the  bedding  used  in  stables  and  the  animal  excre- 
ment with  which  it  has  become  mixed  and  impreg- 
nated. Now  this  excrementitious  matter,  especially 
urine,  yields  ammonia  in  decomposing,  as  is  proved 
by  the  odor  arising  from  latrines  in  hot  weather 
and  so  powerfully  affecting  the  eyes  and  nose.  Thus 
manure  may  be  said  to  hold  ammonia  compounds  in 
storage,  and  from  them  plants  derive  their  nitrogen, 
as  also  many  other  ingredients. 

"Let  us  summarize  these  details.  In  the  nutrition 
of  plants  four  substances  are  of  prime  importance. 
First,  carbonic  acid  gas,  which  yields  carbon,  the 
most  widely  diffused  of  all  the  elements  (but  which 
we  need  not  dwell  upon  here),  since  plants  take  it 
chiefly  from  the  atmosphere,  to  which  it  is  supplied 
unceasingly.  After  carbonic  acid  come  potash, 
phosphoric  acid,  and  nitrogen,  all  of  which  the  roots 
extract  from  the  soil,  where  it  occurs  in  some  com- 
pound or  other.  These  are  the  ingredients  that  the 
soil,  if  it  is  to  remain  fertile,  must  have  given  back 
to  it  as  fast  as  they  are  exhausted  by  the  crops. 
Such  is  the  part  played  by  fertilizers,  without  which 
the  soil  becomes  exhausted  and  ceases  to  produce." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

VEGETATION1  AND   THE   ATMOSPHERE 

TT1HE  carbonic  acid  gas  produced  simply  by  the 
A  breathing  of  the  great  human  family  amounts 
every  year  to  about  160,000,000,000  cubic  meters, 
which  represents  86,270,000,000  kilograms  of  burnt 
carbon.  Piled  up,  this  carbon  would  form  a  moun- 
tain one  league  round  at  its  base  and  between 
four  hundred  and  five  hundred  meters  high.  So 
much  carbon  is  required  by  man  to  maintain  his 
natural  heat.  All  of  us  together  eat  this  mountain 
of  carbon  in  our  food  and  in  the  course  of  the  year 
dissipate  it  all  in  the  air,  a  breathful  at  a  time ;  after 
which  we  immediately  begin  the  dissipation  of  an- 
other mountain  of  carbon.  How  many  mountains  of 
carbon,  then,  since  the  world  was  created,  must  man- 
kind have  exhaled  into  the  atmosphere ! 

"We  must  take  account,  too,  of  the  animals,  which, 
collectively,  those  of  the  land  and  those  of  the  sea, 
use  up  a  big  mountain  of  combustible  matter.  They 
are  much  more  numerous  than  we ;  they  inhabit  the 
entire  globe,  both  continents  and  seas.  What  a 
quantity  of  carbon  it  must  take  to  sustain  the  life 
of  our  planet !  And  to  think  that  it  all  goes  forth 
into  the  air,  as  a  deadly  gas,  of  which  a  few  breaths 
would  cause  death! 

"Nor  is  that  all.    Fermentation,  as  in  grape-juice 

42 


VEGETATION  AND  THE  ATMOSPHERE  43 

and  rising  dough,  and  putrefaction,  as  in  decaying 
manure,  produce  carbonic  acid  gas.  And  it  needs 
only  a  light  layer  of  manure  to  cause-  a  cultivated 
field  to  give  forth  between  one  hundred  and  two  hun- 
dred cubic  meters  of  carbonic  acid  gas  p«r  day  for 
each  hectare. 

"The  wood,  coal,  and  charcoal  burnt  in  our  houses, 
and  especially  the  quantities  consumed  in  the  great 
furnaces  of  factories — are  not  they  also  returned  to 
the  atmosphere  in  the  form  of  harmful  gas?  Just 
think  of  the  amount  of  carbonic  acid  gas  vomited  into 
the  atmosphere  by  a  factory  furnace  into  which  coal 
is  poured  by  the  carload!  Think  also  of  the  vol- 
canoes, gigantic  natural  chimneys  which  in  a  single 
eruption  throw  up  such  quantities  of  gas  that  fur- 
naces offer  no  comparison.  It  is  very  clear:  the  at- 
mosphere is  constantly  receiving  carbonic  acid  gas 
in  torrents  that  defy  computation.  And  yet  animal 
life  has  nothing  to  fear  for  the  present  or  for  the 
future,  since  the  atmosphere,  though  continually  be- 
ing poisoned  with  carbonic  acid  gas,  is  at  the  same 
time  always  being  purged  of  it. 

"And  what  is  the  purgative  agent  commissioned 
by  Providence  to  maintain  the  salubrity  of  the  at- 
mosphere? It  is  vegetation,  my  friends,  vegetation, 
which  feeds  on  carbonic  acid  gas  to  prevent  our  per- 
ishing and  turns  it  into  the  bread  of  life  for  our  sus- 
tenance. This  deadly  gas,  which  absorbs  into  itself 
all  sorts  of  putrefaction,  is  the  choicest  of  nourish- 
ment for  plant-life;  and  thus  out  of  the  bosom  of 
death  the  blade  of  grass  builds  up  new  life. 


44  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

"A  leaf  is  riddled  with  an  infinite  number  of  ex- 
cessively minute  orifices,  each  encircled  by  two  lips 
which  give  it  the  appearance  of  a  half-open  mouth. 
They  are  called  stomata.  On  a  single  leaf  of  the 
linden  more  than  a  million  can  be  counted,  but  so 
small  are  they  as  to  be  quite  invisible  without  a  mag- 
nifying-glass.  This  picture  shows  you  how  they 
look  under  a  microscope.  Well,  through  these  ori- 
fices the  plant  breathes,  not  pure  air  such  as  we 
breathe,  but  poisoned  air,  fatal  to  an  animal  but 
wholesome  for  a  plant.  It  inhales  through  its  myri- 
ads of  millions  of  stomata 
the  carbonic  acid  gas  dif- 
fused through  the  atmos- 
phere ;  it  admits  this  gas  into 
the  inner  substance  of  its 
leaves,  and  there,  under  the 
sun's  rays,  a  marvelous 
process  follows.  Stimu- 
lated by  the  light,  the  leaves 
operate  upon  the  deadly  gas 
and  take  from  it  all  its  car- 
bon. They  unburn  (the 
word  is  not  in  the  dictionary,  more's  the  pity,  for  it 
gives  the  right  idea)— they  unburn  the  burnt  car- 
bon, undo  what  combustion  had  done,  separate  the 
carbon  from  the  air  with  which  it  is  bound  up ;  in  a 
word,  they  decompose  the  carbonic  acid  gas. 

"And  do  not  think  it  any  easy  thing  to  unburn  a 
burnt  substance,  to  restore  to  their  original  condition 
two  substances  united  by  fire.  Scientists  would  need 


Stomata  on  a  Linden  Leaf 


VEGETATION  AND  THE  ATMOSPHERE  45 

all  the  ingenious  means  and  powerful  drugs  they 
possess  to  extract  carbon  from  carbonic  acid  gas. 
This  task,  which  would  tax  the  utmost  resources  of 
the  man  of  science,  leaves  accomplish  noiselessly, 
without  effort,  even  instantaneously,  and  with  the 
sole  requirement  that  they  shall  have  the  aid  of  the 
sun. 

"But  if  sunlight  fails,  the  plant  can  do  nothing 
with  the  carbonic  acid  gas,  the  chief  item  in  its  diet. 
It  then  pines  away  with  hunger,  shoots  up  as  if  in 
quest  of  the  missing  sunshine,  while  its  bark  and 
leaves  turn  pale  and  lose  their  green  color.  Finally 
it  dies.  This  sickly  state  induced  by  the  absence  of 
light  is  called  etiolation.  It  is  artificially  produced 
in  gardening  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  tenderer 
vegetables  and  of  lessening  or  even  entirely  remov- 
ing the  too  strong  and  unpleasant  taste  of  some 
plants.  In  this  way  some  salad  greens  are  bound 
with  a  rush  so  that  the  heart,  deprived  of  the  sun's 
rays,  may  become  tender  and  white;  and  thus,  too, 
celery  is  banked  up  and  left  to  whiten,  since  other- 
wise its  taste  would  be  unbearable.  If  we  cover 
grass  with  a  tile  or  hide  a  plant  under  a  pot  turned 
upside  down,  we  shall  after  a  few  days  of  this  en- 
forced darkness  find  the  foliage  all  sickly  and  yellow. 

"When,  on  the  other  hand,  the  plant  receives  the 
sun's  rays  without  hindrance,  the  carbonic  acid  gas 
is  decomposed  in  no  time,  the  carbon  and  the  air 
separate,  and  each  resumes  its  original  properties. 
Freed  of  its  carbon,  the  air  becomes  what  it  was  be- 
fore this  admixture :  it  becomes  pure  air,  fit  to  main- 


46  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

tain  both  fire  and  life.  In  this  state  it  is  restored 
to  the  atmosphere  by  the  stomata  to  be  used  again 
in  combustion  and  respiration.  It  entered  the  plant 
as  a  fatal  gas,  it  leaves  it  as  a  vivifying  gas.  It 
will  return  some  day  with  a  new  charge  of  carbon, 
which  it  will  deposit  in  the  plant,  and  then,  restored 
to  purity  once  more,  it  will  recommence  its  atmos- 
pheric round.  A  swarm  of  bees  goes  and  comes, 
fpom  the  hive  to  the  fields  and  from  the  fields  to  the 
hives,  on  one  trip  lightened  and  eager  for  booty  and 
on  the  other  heavily  laden  with  honey  and  returning 
to  the  comb  on  wearied  wing.  In  the  same  way  air 
on  coming  to  the  leaves  is  charged  with  carbon  from 
an  animal's  body,  a  burning  fire-brand,  or  decaying 
matter ;  it  gives  it  to  the  plant  and  departs  for  a  fresh 
supply. 

"It  is  thus  that  the  atmosphere  preserves  its  salu- 
brity despite  the  immense  torrents  of  carbonic  acid 
that  are  cast  into  it.  The- plant  lives  on  deadly  gas. 
Under  the  action  of  the  sun's  light  it  decomposes 
the  gas  into  carbon,  which  it  keeps  for  building  up 
its  own  substance,  and  breathable  air,  which  it  re- 
turns to  the  atmosphere.  From  this  carbon  com- 
bined with  other  substances  come  wood,  sugar, 
starch,  flour,  gum,  resin,  oil,  in  fact  every  kind  of 
vegetable  product.  Animal  and  plant  are  of  mutual 
assistance,  the  animal  producing  carbonic  acid  gas, 
which  nourishes  the  plant,  and  the  plant  changing 
this  deadly  gas  into  air  fit  to  breathe  and  into  food. 
Thus  our  dependence  on  plants  is  twofold:  they 
purify  the  atmosphere  and  they  give  us  food." 


CHAPTER  IX 

LIME 

TO  make  mortar  with  which  masonry  is  held  in 
place  it  is  customary  to  use  lime.  In  a  sort  of 
trough  lined  with  sand  are  placed  lumps  of  stone 
having  a  calcined  appearance,  and  on  these  stones 
water  is  poured.  In  a  few  moments  the  pile  becomes 
heated  to  high  temperature,  cracks  and  splits  and 
finally  crumbles  into  dust,  at  the  same  time  absorb- 
ing the  water,  which  disappears  little  by  little  as  it 
is  taken  up  by  the  solid  matter  or  vaporized  by  the 
heat.  More  water  is  added  to  reduce  it  all  to  paste, 
which  is  finally  mixed  with  sand.  The  product  of 
the  mixture  is  mortar.  Such  is  the  process  often 
witnessed  by  Emile  and  Jules,  who  are  always  sur- 
prised, that  stone,  by  having  water  poured  on  to  it, 
should  become  hot  and  turn  the  water  into  jets  of 
steam.  "Lime,"  Uncle  Paul  explained  to  them,  "is 
obtained  from  a  widely  diffused  stone  called  lime- 
stone or,  in  more  learned  language,  carbonate  of 
lime.  The  process  is  of  the  simplest  sort.  It  con- 
sists of  heating  the  stone  in  kilns  built  in  the  open 
air  in  the  vicinity  of  both  limestone  and  fuel,  so  as  to 
avoid  the  expense  of  transportation  in  the  manufac- 
ture of  a  product  that  it  is  desirable  to  furnish  at  a 
low  price. 

47 


48  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

"A  lime-kiln  is  about  three  meters  high,  and  is 
lined  with  fire-proof  brick.  An  opening  at  the  bot- 
tom serves  for  taking  out  the  lime  when  the  firing 
has  continued  long  enough.  In  filling  the  kiln  it  is 
the  usual  practice  to  begin  by  laying  large  pieces  of 
limestone  so  as  to  form  a  sort  of  rude  vault  over  the 
fireplace,  and  on  this  vault  are  piled  smaller  frag- 
ments until  the  entire  cavity  is  filled.  The  fuel  used 
may  be  fagots,  brushwood,  turf,  or  coal.  After  the 
firing  has  gone  on  long  enough,  operations  are  sus- 
pended and  the  lime  is  withdrawn  by  breaking  down 
the  vault  supporting  the  entire  mass,  which  crumbles 
and  comes  crowding  out  at  the  lower  opening,  whence 
it  is  usually  removed. 

4 'Another  method  still  followed  in  some  localities 
and  of  more  ancient  origin  consists  of  filling  the  kiln 
with  alternate  layers  of  fuel  and  limestone.  The 
whole  rests  on  a  bed  of  fagots  that  serves  for  starting 
the  fire.  As  soon  as  the  fire  has  spread  throughout 
the  mass,  the  opening  at  the  top  is  closed  with  pieces 
of  sod  in  order  to  make  the  combustion  slower  and 
more  even." 

"Nothing  could  be  simpler,"  said  Jules,  "than 
lime-making.  Now  I  should  like  to  know  what  effect 
the  heat  of  the  kiln  has  on  the  limestone.  How  does 
it  happen  that  stone  turns  into  lime  by  passing 
through  fire!" 

"Limestone,"  answered  his  uncle,  "contains  two 
different  substances :  first,  lime,  and  then  an  invisible 
substance,  impalpable  as  air  itself,  in  fact,  a  gas, 
carbonic  acid  gas.  The  name  of  carbonate  of  lime 


LIME  49 

given  to  the  limestone  denotes  precisely  this  combina- 
tion. As  it  is  when  taken  from  the  ground,  the  stone 
contains  the  two  substances  closely  united,  so  incor- 
porated indeed  as  no  longer  to  have  the  qualities 
characterizing  them  when  apart.  Heat  destroys  this 
union:  the  lime  stays  in  the  kiln,  and  the  carbonic 
acid  gas  is  dissipated  in  the  atmosphere  with  the 
smoke  from  the  burnt  fuel.  After  this  liberation  of 
the  gas  the  lime  is  left  in  its  pure  state,  no  longer 
masked  by  the  presence  of  another  substance,  but  just 
as  it  is  needed  by  the  mason  for  making  mortar." 

"Then  all  that  the  fire  does,"  queried  Jules,  "is 
just  to  break  apart  the  limestone  and  drive  out  the 
carbonic  acid  gas  that  it  contained!" 

"What  takes  place  in  the  lime-kiln,"  replied  his 
uncle,  "is  nothing  but  the  separation  of  the  lime 
and  the  gas.  Now  let  us  turn  our  attention  to  the 
mortar.  When  lime  is  watered,  it  gets  very  hot, 
swells,  cracks  open,  and  crumbles  into  a  fine  powder 
like  flour.  The  heat  that  is  generated  comes  from 
the  violence  with  which  the  two  substances  rush  to- 
gether. Before  absorbing  water  lime  is  called  quick- 
lime ;  after  this  absorption,  which  has  reduced  it  to 
powder,  it  is  called  slaked  lime.  This  slaked  lime  is 
reduced  to  a  paste  with  water,  and  then  well  mixed 
and  kneaded  with  sand.  The  result  is  the  mortar 
used  in  laying  stone  and  brick  in  order  to  hold  the 
courses  firmly  together  and  give  solidity  to  the 
building. 

"There  is  one  thing  I  advise  you  to  note,  if  you 
have  not  already  done  so,  since  it  will  explain  to  you 


50  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

the  part  played  by  mortar  in  masonry.  Look  at  the 
water  that  for  several  days  has  covered  a  bed  of  lime 
slaked  by  the  masons.  You  will  see  floating  on  the 
surface  small  transparent  particles  resembling  ice. 
Well,  these  tiny  fragments  of  crust  are  nothing 
but  stone  like  that  from  which  the  lime  was  obtained ; 
in  a  word,  they  are  limestone  or  carbonate  of  lime. 
To  make  stone  of  that  kind  two  substances  are  neces- 
sary, as  I  have  just  told  you :  lime  and  carbonic  acid 
gas.  The  lime  is  furnished  by  the  water,  in  which 
it  must  be  present  in  solution,  since  the  water  covers 
a  thick  bed  of  this  material;  and  as  to  the  carbonic 
acid  gas,  it  is  furnished  by  the  air,  where  it  is  always 
to  be  found,  though  in  small  quantities.  Lime,  then, 
has  this  peculiarity,  that  it  slowly  incorporates  the 
small  amount  of  carbonic  acid  gas  present  in  the  at- 
mosphere, and  so  once  more  becomes  the  limestone 
that  it  was  before. 

"A  similar  process  goes  on  in  mortar:  the  lime 
takes  back  from  the  atmosphere  the  gas  that  it  had 
lost  in  the  heat  of  the  lime-kiln,  and  little  by  little 
becomes  stone  again.  The  sand  mixed  with  it  serves 
to  disintegrate  the  lime,  which  thus  more  easily  ab- 
sorbs the  air  necessary  for  its  conversion  into  lime- 
stone. When  the  mortar  has  fully  resumed  the  form 
of  limestone  the  courses  of  masonry  are  so  strongly 
bound  one  to  another  that  the  stones  themselves 
sometimes  break  rather  than  give  way. 

"What  is  known  as  fat  lime  is  lime  that  develops 
great  heat  when  brought  into  contact  with  water,  and 
also  increases  considerably  in  volume,  forming  with 


LIME  51 

the  water  a  thick,  cohesive  paste.  On  the  other  hand, 
poor  lime  develops  but  little  heat,  disintegrates 
slowly,  and  increases  scarcely  any  in  volume.  The 
first  kind  comes  from  nearly  pure  limestone  and  can 
be  mixed  with  a  large  proportion  of  sand,  thus  mak- 
ing a  great  quantity  of  mortar.  The  second  kind  is 
obtained  from  limestone  having  various  foreign  sub- 
stances and  will  admit  of  but  a  small  admixture  of 
sand,  thus  yielding  less  mortar  than  the  other.  Both 
have  the  property  of  hardening  in  the  air  by  the  ab- 
sorption of  'Carbonic  acid  gas  which  converts  them 
into  limestone. 

"There  is  a  third  variety  of  lime  called  hydraulic 
lime,  which  has  the  peculiar  merit  of  being  able  to 
harden  under  water.  It  is  made  from  a  limestone 
containing  a  certain  proportion  of  clay.  Hydraulic 
mortar  is  used  for  the  masonry  of  bridges,  canals, 
cisterns,  foundations,  vaults,  in  fact  for  all  stone  and 
brick  work  under  water  or  in  damp  soil." 


CHAPTER  X 

LIME   IN   AGRICULTURE 

TO  be  fertile  a  soil  must  contain  limestone,  sand, 
and  clay,  besides  the  organic  substances  com- 
ing from  humus  and  fertilizers.  Now  it  may  be  that 
lature  has  not  endowed  the  soil  with  a  sufficient  quan- 
tity or  with  any  of  these  three  constituents.  Then 
the  character  of  the  soil  must  be  corrected  by  giving 
it  what  it  lacks.  That  is  what  is  called  improving 
the  land.  Thus  a  soil  that  is  too  sandy  is  improved 
by  the  addition  of  limestone  and  clay ;  one  that  is  too 
compact,  too  clayey,  is  improved  by  adding  sand  and, 
still  more,  by  adding  limestone.  Mineral  substances 
thus  added  to  the  soil  to  correct  it  are  called  cor- 
rectives. These  substances  cooperate  also  in  the 
nutrition  of  plants,  and  from  this  point  of  view  may 
be  regarded  as  mineral  fertilizers. 

"One  of  the  most  valuable  of  correctives  is  lime, 
which  is  indispensable  to  soils  lacking  limestone,  in- 
dispensable also  to  the  nutrition  of  nearly  all  our 
cultivated  vegetables.  It  acts  in  various  ways. 
First,  it  energetically  attacks  vegetable  substances, 
decomposing  them  and  converting  them  into  humus. 
A  pile  of  leaves  that  would  take  long  months  to  rot 
becomes  in  a  short  time  a  mass  of  humus  when  mixed 
with  lime.  Hence  its  great  utility  in  fields  over- 

62 


LIME  IN  AGRICULTURE  53 

grown  with  weeds,  and  in  newly  cleared  land — in 
short,  wherever  there  are  old  stumps,  piles  of  leaves, 
remnants  of  wood,  and  patches  of  heather,  which 
need  to  be  decomposed.  With  the  help  of  lime  all 
these  herbaceous  or  woody  substances  are  quickly 
converted  into  humus,  Avith  which  the  soil  becomes 
enriched  to  the  great  advantage  of  future  crops. 

1  'In  the  second  place,  lime  corrects  or  neutralizes 
the  acidity  peculiar  to  certain  soils,  as  is  proved  by 
the  following  experiment.  Let  us  mix  some  vinegar, 
no  matter  how  strong,  with  a  little  lime.  In  a  short 
time  the  smell  and  acid  taste  of  the  vinegar  will  have 
disappeared.  Now  wherever  masses  of  vegetable 
refuse,  such  as  leaves,  mosses,  rushes,  old  stumps,  are 
undergoing  decay,  there  are  produced  certain  sour- 
tasting  substances  or,  in  other  words,  acids,  which 
are  invariably  harmful  to  agriculture.  This  genera- 
tion of  acid  occurs  notably  in  turfy  soils,  which  have 
an  excessive  acidity  favorable  to  the  growth  of 
coarse  rushes  and  sedges  that  are  valueless  to  us,  and 
at  the  same  time  this  acid  is  highly  injurious  to  all 
our  cultivated  plants.  Lime,  therefore,  which  is  sure 
to  correct  this  acidity,  works  wonders  in  marshy 
lands,  damp  meadows,  and  turfy  soils.  We  are 
warned  of  the  need  of  lime  by  the  appearance  of 
ferns,  heather,  sedge  or  reed-grass,  rushes,  mosses 
and  sphagnei. 

"Thirdly,  when  once  mixed  with  the  soil,  lime 
speedily  resumes  the  form  it  wore  before  passing 
through  the  lime-kiln ;  that  is  to  say,  it  becomes  lime- 
stone, but  in  the  shape  of  fine  powder.  This  return 


54  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

to  the  limestone  condition  is  brought  about  by  union 
with  the  carbonic  acid  gas  coming  from  the  atmo- 
sphere or  thrown  off  by  the  substances  decaying  in 
the  ground.  Under  this  new  form  lime  continues  to 
play  a  useful  part  by  supplying  the  calcareous  ingre- 
dient to  soil  that  lacked  it,  and  also  by  preventing  the 
clay  from  becoming  too  cohesive,  too  impervious  to 
air  and  water. 

' '  The  addition  of  lime  to  the  soil  should  take  place 
at  the  end  of  summer,  when  the  ground  is  dry.  Lit- 
tle heaps  of  quicklime,  each  containing  about  twenty 
kilograms,  are  placed  at  intervals  of  five  meters  and 
covered  with  a  few  spadefuls  of  earth.  In  a  short 
time  the  moisture  in  the  atmosphere  reduces  the  lime 
to  a  fine  powder,  which  is  then  spread  evenly  with  a 
shovel  and  covered  with  earth — an  operation  involv- 
ing no  severe  labor. 

''Lime  should  never  be  applied  with  seed.  Mere 
contact  with  it  would  burn  the  young  shoots. 
Neither  should  it  be  mixed  with  manure  before  it  is 
used,  since  the  immediate  result  would  be  a  total  loss 
of  great  quantities  of  ammonia,  thrown  off  in  gas- 
eous form ;  and  ammonia,  as  I  have  explained,  is  one 
of  the  richest  of  fertilizers.  Lime  and  manure, 
therefore,  should  be  used  separately. 

"Soils  rich  in  turf,  clay,  or  granite  are  the  ones  on 
which  lime  acts  most  beneficially.  Because  of  the 
important  results  attained  by  the  use  of  lime,  its 
manufacture  for  purely  agricultural  purposes  by  cer- 
tain expeditious  and  effective  methods  is  customary 
in  many  places.  Thus  in  Mayenne,  where  this  ap- 


LIME  IN  AGRICULTURE  55 

plication  of  lime  has  converted  tracts  of  uncultivated 
clayey  land  into  rich  pastures  or  into  wheat  fields 
of  exceptional  fertility,  lime  is  made  in  enormous 
kilns  a  dozen  meters  high  and  supported  by  the  cliff 
that  furnishes  the  limestone  and  sometimes  the  fuel 
also. 

"All  animal  matter  makes  excellent  fertilizer.  Of 
this  class  are  old  woolen  rags,  stray  bits  of  leather, 
fragments  of  horn,  dried  blood  from  slaughter- 
houses, and  flesh  not  fit  for  human  consumption.  All 
these  substances  are  rich  in  nitrogen  and  phosphates, 
and  if  mixed  with  farm  manure  they  add  greatly  to 
its  value.  Lime  furnishes  us  the  means  of  utilizing 
one  of  these  substances,  flesh,  in  the  best  way  pos- 
sible. 

"Dead  bodies  of  animals,  heedlessly  left  for  dogs 
and  crows  and  magpies  to  devour,  should  be  cut  up 
in  pieces  and  then  buried  with  a  mixture  of  earth  and 
quicklime.  This  attacks  the  flesh  and  quickly  de- 
composes it,  so  that  in  a  few  months'  time  there 
would  be  available  a  deposit  of  the  most  powerful 
fertilizer  instead  of  a  useless,  disease-breeding  car- 
cass. As  to  the  bones,  resistant  to  the  action  of  lime, 
they  are  burned  to  render  them  more  friable,  and 
then  reduced  to  powder.  This  bone-dust,  mixed 
with  the  fertilizer  furnished  by  the  decayed  flesh, 
will  contribute  to  grain-field  or  pasture  a  rich  supply 
of  phosphorus.  To  uses  of  this  sort  the  farmer 
should  put  all  horses  and  mules  that  have  had  to  be 
killed,  as  well  as  all  large  farm  animals  that  have 
died  of  disease." 


CHAPTER  XI 

PLASTER   OF    PARIS 

TT1  HOUGH  less  important  than  lime,  plaster  of 
JL  Paris  is  nevertheless  much  used  in  building, 
especially  for  ceilings,  molded  chimney-pieces,  and 
in  the  filling  of  cracks  and  cavities.  It  is  a  white 
powder  which  is  made  into  a  paste  by  adding  water, 
prepared  a  little  at  a  time  and  only  as  fast  as 
needed." 

"I  've  seen  them  do  it,"  Emile  interposed;  "the 
workman  takes  a  few  handfuls  of  that  powder  out 
of  a  bag,  and  then  he  mixes  it  with  a  little  water  in 
his  trough  with  a  trowel.  He  scrapes  the  paste  all 
together  in  his  hand  and  uses  it  immediately,  before 
making  any  more.  Why  don 't  they  mix  all  the  plas- 
ter at  once,  as  they  do  with  lime  when  they  make 
mortar?" 

"Plaster  is  not  all  prepared  beforehand  for  the 
reason  that  it  hardens  very  quickly,  turns  to  stone, 
and  is  then  unfit  for  use.  Accordingly,  to  have  it 
in  a  suitable  state  of  softness,  it  must  be  prepared 
at  the  moment  of  using." 

"And  what  do  they  make  that  powder  of  that 
turns  to  stone  when  it  is  mixed  with  water?" 

"Plaster  is  made  from  a  stone  called  gypsum, 
which,  always  the  same  as  to  its  nature,  varies  much 

56 


PLASTER  OF  PARIS  57 

in  appearance  according  to  its  state  of  purity. 
Sometimes  it  is  a  shapeless  rock,  whitish  and  more 
or  less  grained;  sometimes  a  fine  fibrous  mass  with 
a  silky  luster ;  or,  again,  a  substance  as  transparent 
as  glass  and  splitting  into  very  thin  scales  which 
show,  here  and  there,  the  superb  colors  of  the  rain- 
bow. Struck  by  their  beauty,  workmen  engaged  in 
quarrying  gypsum  have  given  the  name  of  '  Jesus- 
stone'  to  these  brilliant  laminae.  Also,  from  their 
brilliance  and  their  cheapness,  they  are  called  'don- 
key's mirrors.'  In  ancient  times  these  beautiful 
sheets  of  transparent  gypsum  were  used  as  window- 
panes. 

"  Impure  gypsum,  in  the  form  of  shapeless  rock, 
is  used  for  ordinary  plaster,  while  pure  gypsum, 
which  comes  in  glass-like  sheets  or  in  blocks  of  a 
silky  appearance,  is  used  for  fine  plaster,  as  in  all 
sorts  of  molding.  The  stone  from  which  plaster  is 
obtained  occurs  in  abundance  in  several  departments 
of  France,  where  it  forms  hills  and  even  whole  moun- 
tains, as  for  example  in  the  departments  of  the  Seine, 
the  Mouths  of  the  Rhone,  and  Vaucluse.  For  con- 
version into  the  usual  plaster  of  Paris  this  stone 
must  be  subjected  to  a  moderate  heat.  To  this  end 
it  is  the  practice  to  build  with  gypsum  blocks  a  row 
of  small  vaults,  and  on  these  vaults  to  pile  fragments 
of  smaller  size.  Then  the  firing  is  done  by  burning 
fagots  and  brushwood  under  these  vaults." 

"And  is  it  carbonic  acid  gas  this  time,  too,  that 
is  driven  out  by  the  heat,  as  in  the  manufacture  of 
lime!"  asked  Jules. 


58  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

"No,  my  friend :  gypsum  does  not  contain  any  car- 
bonic acid  gas.  It  is  made  of  lime,  as  in  limestone, 
but  united  with  sulphuric  acid,  which  heat  is  power- 
less to  drive  out.  Besides  this  it  contains  water, 
which  forms  a  fifth  of  the  total  weight  of  the  stone. 
This  water,  and  nothing  further,  escapes  under  the 
action  of  heat.  With  this  expelled  the  gypsum  is 
turned  to  plaster. 

"But  this  latter  has  a  strong  tendency  to  take  on 
again  the  moisture  parted  with  in  the  kiln,  and  thus 
to  become  once  more  what  it  was  in  the  beginning — 
primitive  stone.  It  is  this  peculiarity  that  renders 
gypsum  suitable  for  plaster.  Moistened  in  the 
trough,  the  powdery  matter  quickly  incorporates  the 
water  that  is  thus  restored  to  it,  and  the  whole  hard- 
ens into  a  block  having  the  solidity  of  gypsum  that 
has  not  yet  passed  through  the  kiln.  Lime  turns  to 
stone  by  being  permeated  with  carbonic  acid  gas, 
which  restores  it  to  its  limestone  state.  Plaster  be- 
comes stone  by  absorbing  water,  which  brings  it  back 
to  the  state  of  gypsum.  The  transformation  of  lime 
is  slow,  of  plaster  very  rapid. 

"As  soon  as  it  comes  from  the  kiln  plaster  is 
ground  under  vertical  millstones  and  then  sifted. 
The  powder  must  be  kept  in  a  very  dry  place,  since 
it  contracts  moisture  easily  and  then  will  not  harden 
or  set,  as  they  say,  when  mixed  with  water.  You 
will  perceive  clearly  enough  that  after  being  more 
or  less  impregnated  with  moisture  plaster  cannot 
have  the  same  tendency  to  absorb  the  water  neces- 
sary to  change  it  into  a  solid  mass;  the  substance 


PLASTER  OF  PARIS  59 

being  already  somewhat  soaked  will  not  show  the 
same  thirst  when  the  time  comes  for  using  it.  All 
damp  and,  still  more,  all  wet  plaster  is  of  no  further 
use. 

''Statues,  busts,  medallions,  and  various  other 
ornamental  objects  are  made  by  casting  with  fine 
plaster  of  Paris.  This  is  prepared  from  the  purest 
gypsum,  those  beautiful  transparent  scales  I  told 
you  about  a  little  while  ago.  It  is  heated  in  ovens 
similar  to  those  used  by  bakers,  and  cut  off  from 
contact  with  the  burning  fuel,  so  as  to  preserve  its 
whiteness.  The  powder,  which  looks  like  fine  flour, 
is  mixed  with  water  and  reduced  to  a  'Smooth  paste, 
which  is  then  poured  into  molds.  When  the  plaster 
has  set,  the  mold,  which  is  in  several  pieces,  all 
joined  together,  is  taken  apart  and  the  finished  cast 
withdrawn." 


CHAPTER  XII 

PLASTER   OF   PARIS   IN   AGRICULTURE 

;  T  X  agriculture  plaster  of  Paris  has  by  no  means 
J.  the  importance  of  lime ;  nevertheless  it  produces 
excellent  results  on  clover,  sainfoin,  and  lucerne.  It 
is  used  in  the  spring  for  sprinkling  the  young  leaves 
when  they  are  still  damp  with  the  morning  dew. 
Still,  foggy  weather  is  the  most  favorable  for  this 
work.  Plaster  also  acts  well  on  rape,  flax,  buck- 
wheat, and  tobacco,  but  has  no  effect  on  cereals. 

"The  intelligent  farmer  puts  plaster  of  Paris  to 
still  another  use.  In  every  dunghill  there  is  always 
going  on  a  slow  combustion,  or  fermentation,  giving 
forth  ammonia  in  vaporous  form ;  and  this  ammonia 
escapes  into  the  air  as  a  total  loss,  whereas  it  ought 
to  be  retained  as  far  as  possible  in  the  manure,  since 
the  compounds  of  ammonia  constitute  the  source 
whence  plants  obtain  nitrogen.  Therefore  to  pre- 
vent this  waste,  plaster  is  sprinkled  over  the  dung- 
hill. Sometimes,  too,  it  is  sprinkled  over  each  layer 
of  manure  as  the  pile  rises.  The  plaster  absorbs 
the  ammoniac  vapors,  gives  them  a  little  of  its  sul- 
phuric acid,  and  converts  them  into  a  compound, 
sulphate  of  ammonia,  which  is  proof  against  vapor- 
ization. Hence  we  say  that  plaster  of  Paris  fixes 

60 


PLASTER  OF  PARIS  IN  AGRICULTURE     61 

ammonia,  that  is  to  say  prevents  its  being  dissi- 
pated. 

1  'To  illustrate  the  fertilizing  effect  of  plaster  of 
Paris  on  lucerne,  the  following  incident  is  related. 
Franklin,  one  of  the  chief  glories  of  the  United  States 
of  North  America,  aware  of  the  great  fertilizing 
power  of  plaster,  wished  to  extend  the  agricultural 
use  of  this  substance  among  his  fellow-citizens;  but 
they,  clinging  to  old  customs,  would  not  listen  to 
him.  To  convince  them,  Franklin  spread  plaster 
over  a  field  of  lucerne  by  the  side  of  the  most  fre- 
quented road  leading  out  of  Philadelphia,  but  spread 
it  in  such  a  way  as  to  form  letters  and  words.  The 
lucerne  grew  all  over  the  field,  but  much  taller, 
greener,  and  thicker  where  the  plaster  had  been  ap- 
plied, so  that  the  passers-by  read  in  the  field  of  lu- 
cerne these  words  traced  in  gigantic  letters:  'Plas- 
ter of  Paris  was  applied  here. '  The  ingenious  expe- 
dient was  a  great  success  and  plaster  was  very  soon 
adopted  in  agriculture." 

"The  doubters  must  have  been  convinced,"  said 
Jules,  "on  seeing  those  big  green  letters  rising  above 
the  rest  of  the  lucerne.  Did  not  Franklin  do  some 
other  remarkable  things?  I  remember  the  name;  I 
have  seen  it  several  times  in  books." 

"Yes,"  replied  his  uncle,  "Franklin  became  by  his 
learning,  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men  of  his  time. 
Among  other  things,  we  owe  to  him  the  invention 
of  the  lightning-conductor,  that  tall  pointed  iron  rod 
erected  on  the  roofs  of  buildings  to  protect  them 
from  the  thunderbolt.  It  was  he  who  first  had  the 


62  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

superb  audacity  to  evoke  the  lightning  from  the 
midst  of  the  thunder-clouds,  to  direct  it  according  to 
his  wishes,  and  to  bring  it  to  his  feet  that  he  might 
study  its  nature.  One  stormy  day  in  1752  he  went 
out  into  the  country  near  Philadelphia  in  company 
with  his  young  son  who  carried  a  kite  made  out  of 
a  silk  handkerchief  tied  at  the  four  corners  to  glass 
rods.  A  pointed  piece  of  metal  terminated  the  ap- 
paratus. A  long  hemp  cord,  with  a  shorter  cord  of 
silk  tied  to  the  lower  end,  was  fastened  to  the  kite, 
which  was  then  sent  up  toward  a  black  thundercloud. 
At  first  nothing  happened  to  confirm  the  previsions 
of  the  American  sage,  and  he  was  beginning  to  de- 
spair of  success  when  there  came  a  shower  of  rain 
and  with  it  a  flash  of  lightning.  The  wet  cord 
proved  a  better  conductor  than  when  dry.  Without 
thinking  of  the  danger  he  ran,  and  transported  with 
joy  at  having  brought  within  his  reach  that  which 
causes  thunder,  Franklin  put  his  finger  near  the  cord 
and  made  little  spurts  of  fire  dart  out,  lighted  brandy 
from  these  sparks  out  of  the  sky,  and  only  brought 
his  perilous  experiment  to  an  end  when  he  had  fully 
determined  the  origin  and  nature  of  thunder  and 
lightning.  This  was  the  way  he  studied  the  mys- 
tery at  close  quarters,  discovered  its  nature,  and 
finally  succeeded  in  protecting  buildings  by  means 
of  a  pointed  iron  rod. 

"Benjamin  Franklin  was  born  in  Boston,  North 
America,  in  1706.    He  was  the  youngest 1  of  -seven- 

» The  author  ia  not  quite  accurate  here.     Franklin  was,  as  he  tells 
us,  "the  youngest  son,  and  the  youngest  child  but  two."— Translator. 


PLASTER  OF  PARIS  IN  AGRICULTURE     63 

teen  children.  Hence,  as  his  father  was  a  poor  tal- 
low-chandler and  soap-boiler,  he  could  not  acquire 
at  home  anything  beyond  a  knowledge  of  reading, 
writing,  and  arithmetic.  At  ten  years  of  age  he 
was  taken  from  school  and  set  to  performing  small 
trfsks  about  the  house.  He  cut  candle-wicks  and 
poured  the  tallow  into  the  molds,  waited  on  cus- 
tomers in  his  father's  shop,  and  ran  errands.  His 
work  brought  him  in  a  few  pence  which  he  did  not 
yet  know  how  to  spend  judiciously.  He  tells  us  the 
following  little  story  on  this  subject,  which  we  may 
all  profit  by. 

"  'One  day,'  says  he,  -finding  myself  the  possessor 
of  a  handful  of  coppers,  I  ran  out  to  buy  some  toys, 
when  a  little  boy  of  about  my  own  age  happened  to 
pass  that  way  with  a  whistle  in  his  hand.  Delighted 
with  the  sound  of  the  whistle,  I  proposed  to  my  com- 
rade to  exchange  all  my  money  for  his  musical  in- 
strument. To  this  he  very  willingly  agreed.  Elated 
with  my  purchase,  which  I  thought  very  fine,  I  re- 
turned home,  where  I  continued  whistling  to  my 
great  joy,  but  to  the  great  displeasure  of  the  ears  of 
my  family.  I  told  them  of  the  magnificent  exchange 
I  had  just  made.  My  brothers  and  sisters  made  fun 
of  me,  saying  that  for  the  price  I  had  paid  I  might 
have  bought  dozens  of  such  whistles  at  the  toy-shop. 
Only  then  did  it  occur  to  me  what  fine  things  I  might 
have  bought  with  my  money,  and  I  began  to  cry  with 
vexation.  Chagrin  at  the  exchange  I  had  made  now 
caused  me  more  pain  than  the  whistle  had  before 
given  me  pleasure.  This  little  incident  made  an  im- 


6*  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

pression  on  me  that  has  never  been  effaced  and  has 
been  of  service  to  me  on  more  than  one  occasion. 
Ever  since,  whenever  I  am  tempted  to  buy  some  use- 
less thing,  I  say  to  myself,  "Do  not  pay  too  much 
for  your  whistle  ";  and  so  I  save  my  money.'  " 


CHAPTER  XIII 

NATURAL   FERTILIZERS GUANO 

PLANT-LIFE  finds  a  part  of  its  sustenance 
provided  by  nature  in  the  atmosphere ;  it  finds 
carbonic  acid  gas,  whence  it  derives  the  carbon  it 
requires;  but  the  care  and  ingenuity  of  man  have 
to  supplement  these  natural  resources  by  providing 
fertilizers. 

1 1  One  of  the  chief  of  these  fertilizers,  farm  manure, 
is  furnished  by  the  bedding  and  excrement  of  ani- 
mals. To  obtain  an  excellent  dressing  of  this  sort 
it  is  customary  to  use  for  bedding,  as  far  as  possible, 
the  straw  from  grain,  since  this,  being  composed 
of  hollow  stalks,  is  capable  of  holding  considerable 
moisture.  But,  as  in  certain  cases  straw  would 
hardly  be  able  to  absorb  all  the  fluid  matter,  it  is 
well  to  make  a  trench  in  the  stable  and  thus  carry 
off  the  excess  of  liquid  to  a  reservoir  outside,  where 
another  heap  of  straw  or  similar  material  is  in  readi- 
ness to  receive  it.  Then,  at  a  distance  from  all  rain- 
spouts  and  gutters,  and  in  the  shade  of  trees,  a  sub- 
stantial layer  of  clay  is  spread  on  the  ground,  and 
on  this  is  erected  the  pile  of  manure.  All  around 
it  is  dug  a  little  trench  which  conducts  the  brown 
liquid  that  oozes  from  the  manure,  and  that  is  knowu 

65 


66  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

as  liquid  manure,  into  a  hole  large  enough  to  admit 
of  the  use  of  a  bucket  in  drawing  out  the  liquid. 

"Liquid  manure  is  composed  of  the  fluid  matter 
with  which  the  bedding  is  steeped,  and  it  holds  in 
solution  a  great  part  of  the  nutritive  constituents 
of  the  manure.  Agriculture  knows  no  richer  fer- 
tilizer. Hence  care  should  be  taken  not  to  let  it 
go  to  waste  in  neighboring  ditches  or  soak  into  the 
ground.  That  is  why  the  pile  is  placed  on  a  layer 
of  clay,  which  keeps  the  liquid  manure  from  soaking 
into  the  ground  where  it  would  be  wasted ;  and  it  is 
also  the  reason  for  digging  a  trench  to  receive  this 
fluid  matter  and  conduct  it  to  the  hole.  When  this 
hole  is  full  the  liquid  manure  is  drawn  out  with  a 
bucket  and  thrown  back  on  to  the  dung-hill. 

"Nor  is  that  the  whole  of  the  story.  A  slow  com- 
bustion will  soon  begin  throughout  the  pile  of  ma- 
nure ;  its  mass  will  ferment  and  become  heated,  and 
as  a  consequence  the  nitrogenous  constituents  will 
decompose  and  will  liberate  ammonia,  which  will 
escape  into  the  air  and  be  lost  if  the  fermentation  is 
excessive.  It  is  to  avoid  too  rapid  a  heating  that 
the  manure-pile  is  placed  in  the  shade  and  not  under 
the  direct  rays  of  the  sun.  Moreover,  the  liquid 
manure  thrown  on  to  the  heap  from  time  to  time  also 
moderates  the  fermenting  process. 

"Compare  this  careful  method  with  the  practice 
on  most  farms,  where  the  manure  is  heaped  up  with- 
out any  precaution,  without  shelter  from  the  sun, 
unprotected  from  the  drenching  rains,  which  wash 
away  the  soluble  constituents.  Think  of  those  rivu- 


NATURAL  FERTILIZERS— GUANO  67 

lots  of  liquid  manure  trickling  away  in  this  direction 
and  that,  and  collecting  here  and  there  in  puddles 
of  infection.  See  how  all  the  inmates  of  the  poultry- 
yard  scratch  at  the  heap,  turning  over  and  scatter- 
ing its  contents,  and  thus  causing  the  ammonia  to 
escape  into  the  atmosphere.  Can  such  a  dung-hill 
be  as  valuable  as  one  that  is  attended  to  properly? 

"Liquid  manure  being  the  richest  part  of  the 
whole  pile,  care  should  be  taken  not  to  let  escape 
what  the  bedding  does  not  absorb.  It  'should  be  first 
diluted  with  water  and  then  applied  to  the  growing 
crops.  When  it  is  desired  for  use  in  non-liquid 
form,  it  should  be  mixed  with  enough  earth  to  absorb 
it,  and  the  result  is  an  excellent  fertilizer. 

"In  summer  it  is  not  unusual  to  enclose  with  hur- 
dles a  piece  of  land  soon  to  be  cultivated,  and  into 
this  enclosure  a  flock  of  sheep  is  driven  to  pass  the 
night  under  the  care  of  the  shepherd  in  his  movable 
hut,  and  with  the  protection  of  trusty  dogs  well  able 
to  cope  with  any  marauding  wolves.  The  next  night 
the  flock  is  quartered  in  another  spot,  and  so  on  until 
the  entire  field  has  thus  served,  a  little  at  a  time, 
as  stable  for  the  flock.  The  purpose  of  this  pro- 
cedure is  to  utilize  the  excrement,  both  solid  and 
liquid,  left  behind  by  the  flock.  In  one  night  a  sheep 
can  fertilize  a  square  meter  of  surface.  This  method 
of  fertilizing  is  very  effective  because  of  the  complete 
absorption  of  the  fluid  matter  by  the  soil. 

'  *  Off  the  coast  of  Peru  in  South  America  are  sev- 
eral small  islands  which  form  a  common  rendezvous 
for  great  numbers  of  sea-birds.  Birds  that  frequent 


Common  Gull,  or  Mew-gull 


68  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

the  sea  are  all  notorious  for  their  insatiable  appe- 
tite. Constantly  in  search  of  fish,  which  they  live 
on,  they  spend  the  day  exploring  the  surface  of  the 
waters  at  immense  distance  from  land.  Nature  has 

endowed  them  with 
prodigious  flying 
power.  To  these  in- 
defatigable rovers  an 
aerial  promenade  of 
some  hundreds  of 
leagues  before  dinner 
is  a  mere  nothing. 
Scattered  during  the 
day  in  all  directions 
in  quest  of  prey,  they  reach  the  islets  in  the  evening 
to  spend  the  night,  arriving  in  flocks  so  dense  as 
to  darken  the  sky.  Being  well  fed,  thanks  to  their 
foraging  excursions,  they  cover  the  ground  at  night 
with  a  thick  layer  of  excrement.  And  as  this  has 
been  going  on  century  after  century  ever  since  the 
world  was  made,  these  deposits,  piled  one  on  another, 
have  at  last  become  massive  beds  twenty  or  thirty 
meters  thick,  and  so  hard,  so  compact,  that  to  break 
them  it  is  necessary  to  use  a  pick  or  a  petard,  just  as 
one  would  in  quarrying  stone.  Workmen  operate 
this  dung  mine,  and  vessels  from  all  parts  of  the 
world  fetch  cargoes  of  this  valuable  material,  which 
is  called  guano.  This  enormous  mass  of  dung,  which 
has  by  the  lapse  of  ages  been  turned  into  a  sort  of 
whitish  loam,  gives  Peru  an  annual  revenue  amount- 
ing to  sixty  millions  of  francs. 


NATURAL  FERTILIZERS— GUANO  69 

"  Guano  is  the  strongest  fertilizer  known  to  agri- 
culture. It  is  scattered  broadcast  over  the  field 
when  vegetation  is  starting,  and  for  the  best  results 
a  rather  damp  time  is  chosen  for  this  work  in  order 
that  the  moisture  may  convey  to  the  roots  of  the 
plants,  by  gradual  infiltration,  the  soluble  constit- 
uents of  the  fertilizer.  The  action  of  guano  on  vege- 
tation is  of  the  promptest,  most  powerful  sort." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   STALK   OF   THE   PLANT 

rTlHE  stalk  is  the  common  support  of  the  plant's 
A  various  parts.  It  is  called  annual  or  herba- 
ceous when  it  lives  only  one  year,  as  in  the  potato, 
spinach,  parsley,  and  all  forms  of  vegetation  that 
from  their  soft  structure  belong  to  the  class  of  herbs. 
Ligneous  is  the  name  given  to  the  stalk  when,  de- 
signed to  live  for  a  greater  or  less  number  of  years, 
it  is  made  of  strong  woody  fibers,  such  as  we  find 
in  the  trunks  of  trees. 

"Let  us  make  a  clean  cut  through  any  tree-trunk, 
that  of  an  oak  for  example.  We  shall  find  it  divided 
into  three  parts:  in  the  center  the  pith  or  marrow, 
very  slightly  developed;  around  the  marrow  the 
wood  proper;  and,  finally,  on  the  outside,  the  bark. 
A  closer  examination  shows  that  the  wood  is  formed 
of  concentric  layers  which  are  indicated  in  the  cross- 
section  by  a  series  of  circles  having  the  marrow  for 
a  common  center.  These  layers  are  called  ligneous 
zones  or,  since  one  is  formed  every  year,  annual 
layers.  During  the  summer  there  is  a  downward 
flow,  throughout  the  tree,  of  a  peculiar  liquid,  the 
descending  sap,  which  constitutes  the  fluid  nourish- 
ment of  the  tree.  This  liquid  runs  between  the  wood 
and  the  bark  and  becomes,  little  by  little  in  its  course, 

70 


THE  STALK  OF  THE  PLANT  71 

on  one  side  a  layer  of  wood  which  attaches  itself  to 
the  outer  surface  of  the  preceding  year's  layer,  and 
on  the  other  side  a  thin  sheet  of  bark  which  is  added 
to  the  inner  surface  of  the  bark  already  formed. 

"Thus  each  year  both  bark 
and  wood  form  a  new  layer ;  but 
this  added  layer  is  applied'  in 
opposite  ways  in  the  two  in- 
stances,— outside  on  the  wood, 
inside  on  the  bark.  The  wood 
thus  encircled  from  year  to  year 
by  new  layers  increases  in  age  cross  section  of  Tree  Trunk 
toward  the  center  and  becomes  younger  and  younger 
toward  the  circumference,  whereas  the  bark,  lined 
every  year  with  a  fresh  sheet,  shows  its  youth  on  the 
inside  and  its  age  on  the  outside.  The  first  buries 
inside  the  trunk  its  decrepit  and  dead  layers;  the 
second  thrusts  its  old  layers  outside,  where  they 
crack  and  fall  off  in  large  scales.  This  aging  process 
is  simultaneous  on  the  outside  and  in  the  center  of 
the  tree-trunk;  but  between  the  wood  and  the  bark 
life  is  always  at  work,  creating  fresh  accretions. 

"Here  are  some  experimental  proofs  of  this  an- 
nual formation  of  a  ligneous  layer.  A  strip  of  bark 
is  removed  from  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  and  on  the 
wood  thus  laid  bare  is  fastened  a  thin  sheet  of  metal. 
The  bark  is  then  replaced  and  bound  with  ligatures 
so  that  the  wound  may  heal.  We  will  suppose  ten 
years  have  passed.  The  bark  is  raised  again  at  the 
same  place.  The  metal  sheet  is  no  longer  visible; 
to  find  it  you  must  bore  deep  into  the  wood.  Now, 


72  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

if  you  count  the  ligneous  layers  removed  before 
reaching  the  metal  sheet,  you  will  find  precisely  ten, 
just  the  number  of  years  that  have  passed. 

"A  number  of  observations  like  the  following  are 
familiar:  Some  foresters  cut  down  a  beech  bearing 
on  its  trunk  the  date  1750.  The  same  inscription 
was  found  again  in  the  inner  substance  of  the  wood, 
but  to  reach  it  they  had  to  cut  through  fifty-five  lay- 
ers on  which  no  mark  whatever  appeared.  If  now, 
we  add  55  to  1750  we  obtain  precisely  the  year  when 
the  tree  was  felled,  or  1805.  The  inscription  carved 
on  the  trunk  in  the  year  1750  had  passed  through 
the  bark  and  reached  the  layer  of  wood  that  was  then 
outermost.  Since  that  event  fifty-five  years  had 
passed  and  new  layers,  exactly  the  same  in  number, 
had  grown  over  the  first. 

"Thus  a  tree  is  composed  of  a  succession  of  woody 
sheaths,  the  outer  ones  enveloping  the  inner.  The 
stem  or  trunk  contains  them  all;  the  branches,  ac- 
cording to  their  age,  contain  more  or  fewer.  Each 
one  represents  a  single  year's  growth.  The  woody 
sheath  of  the  present  year  occupies  the  exterior  of 
the  trunk,  immediately  under  the  bark;  those  of 
former  years  occupy  the  interior,  and  the  nearer 
they  are  to  the  center  the  older  they  are.  The  lay- 
ers of  future  years  will  come  one  at  a  time  and  take 
their  places  over  preceding  layers,  so  that  what  is 
now  the  outermost  layer  will  in  its  turn  be  found 
embedded  in  the  body  of  the  trunk. 

"Of  all  these  ligneous  zones  of  unequal  age  the 
most  important  to-day  is  the  outside  one ;  its  destruc- 


THE  STALK  OF  THE  PLANT  73 

tion  would  cause  the  death  of  the  tree,  since  through 
it  the  nutritive  juices  of  the  earth  reach  the  buds, 
leaves,  and  young  branches.  In  their  time  the  in- 
terior layers,  one  by  one,  when  they  formed  the  sur- 
face, rendered  the  same  service  to  the  buds  of  their 
day ;  but  now  that  these  buds  have  become  branches 
the  inner  layers  have  only  a  secondary  office,  or  even 
none  at  all.  Those  nearest  the  outside  still  have 
some  aptness  for  work  and  help  the  layer  of  the 
year  to  carry  the  juices  from  the  earth  to  the 
branches.  As  to  the  innermost  ones,  they  have  lost 
all  activity;  their  wood  is  hard,  dried  up,  encrusted 
with  inert  matter.  In  their  decrepitude  these  in- 
terior layers  are  incapable  of  service  in  the  work 
of  vegetation;  the  most  they  can  do  is  by  the  sup- 
port of  their  firm  woody  structure  to  give  solidity 
to  the  whole.  Thus  the  tree's  activity  decreases 
from  the  outside  toward  the  center.  On  the  surface 
are  youth,  vigor,  labor;  in  the  center  old  age,  ruin, 
repose." 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  BOOT 

finHE  stalk  or  trunk  is  the  upward-growing  part 
J.  of  the  plant,  and  needs  air  and  light.  The  root, 
on  the  contrary,  is  the  downward-growing  part,  and 
it  needs  soil  and  darkness.  The  extreme  ends  of 
the  root's  various  subdivisions  are  always  growing, 
always  young,  of  delicate  structure,  and  for  that 
reason  admirably  fitted  for  imbibing,  very  much 
as  a  fine  sponge  would  do,  the  liquids  with  which  the 
soil  is  impregnated.  Because  of  their  facility  in 
absorbing  moisture  these  ever-growing  tip-ends  are 
called  spongioles.  The  spongioles  terminate  the 
rootlets,  that  is  to  say  the  final  subdivisions  of  the 
root,  subdivisions  known  as  root-hairs  on  account 
of  their  resemblance  to  real  hair. 

"The  root  takes  various  forms,  which  are  all  re- 
ducible to  two  fundamental  types.  Sometimes  it 
consists  of  a  main  body  or  tap-root,  which  sends  out 
branches  as  it  bores  deeper  into  the  soil.  This  des- 
ignation, tap-root,  is  a  common  and  familiar  term. 
Sometimes  the  root  assumes  the  form  of  a  tuft,  a 
bunch  of  rootlets,  simple  or  branching,  which,  spring- 
ing from  the  same  point,  continue  to  grow  at  a  nearly 
equal  rate  and  on  an  equal  footing  as  to  importance. 

74 


THE  ROOT 


75 


Roots  of  this  sort  arc  commonly  known  as  fibrous 
roots. 

"As  a  general  rule,  the  growth  of  the  root  keeps 
pace  with  that  of  the  stem  or  trunk.  Thus  the  oak, 
elm,  maple, 
beech,  and  all 
our  large  trees 
have  a  vigorous, 


deep   -   growing     / 

1 


root  as  anchor- 
age for  the  enor- 
mous  super- 
structure, to 
brace  it  firmly 
against  the  wind. 
But  there  is  no 
lack  of  lowly 
herbage  that  has 
roots  quite  out 
of  proportion  to 
the  other  parts, 
— veritable  tap-roots  of  greater  size  and  vigor  than 
many  a  plant  of  far  greater  aerial  development  can 
boast.  To  this  class  belong  the  mallow,  carrot,  and 
radish.  Lucerne  has  for  support  to  its  meager  foli- 
age a  root  that  bores  two  or  three  meters  into  the 
ground. 

"An  agricultural  practice  of  supreme  interest  is 
based,  at  least  partly,  on  the  excessive  development 
of  certain  roots.  The  plant  is  a  laboratory  where 
life  converts  into  nutritive  matter  the  manure  from 


Boots 


76  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

our  stables  and  poultry-yards.  A  cart-load  of  dung 
becomes  at  the  farmer's  .pleasure,  after  passing 
through  one  sort  of  plant  or  another,  a  crop  of  peas 
or  beans,  a  basket  of  fruit,  or  a  loaf  of  bread.  Hence 
this  fertilizer  is  a  very  precious  thing  which  nothing 
can  replace  and  which  must  be  utilized  to  the  very 
utmost.  The  nourishment  of  us  all  depends  on  it. 
Enriched  with  this  fertilizer,  the  soil  produces,  we 
will  say,  a  first  harvest  of  wheat.  But  wheat  with 
its  bunch  of  short  and  fine  roots,  has  drawn  only 
upon  the  upper  layer  of  fertilizing  material,  leav- 
ing intact  all  that  the  rain  has  dissolved  and  carried 
down  into  the  lower  layers.  It  has  performed  its 
mission  admirably,  it  is  true;  it  has  made  a  clean 
sweep  and  converted  into  wheat  all  the  fertilizer 
contained  in  the  layer  of  soil  accessible  to  its  roots, 
so  that  if  wheat  were  sown  a  second  time  no  harvest 
would  be  obtained.  The  soil,  then,  is  exhausted  on 
the  surface,  but  in  its  underlying  strata  it  is  still 
rich.  Well,  what  crop  shall  we  choose  for  the  utiliza- 
tion of  these  lower  strata  and  the  production  of  still 
further  supplies  of  food?  It  cannot  be  barley,  oats, 
or  rye,  since  their  little  fibrous  roots  would  find  noth- 
ing to  glean  in  the  surface  soil  after  the  first  crop 
of  wheat.  But  it  will  be  lucerne,  since  this  plant 
will  send  down  its  roots,  each  as  thick  as  your  finger, 
to  the  depth  of  one,  two,  or  even  three  meters,  if  need 
be,  and  give  back  the  fertilizer  in  the  form  of  for- 
age, which,  with  the  help  of  the  animal  that  feeds 
on  it,  will  be  converted  into  nutritious  meat,  valuable 
dairy  products,  excellent  wool,  or,  at  the  very  least, 


THE  ROOT  77 

animal  power  for  draft  service  or  other  work.  This 
succession  of  two  or  more  different  kinds  of  crops 
for  the  utmost  utilization  of  a  given  area  of  pre- 
pared soil  is  called  rotation  of  crops,  of  which  there 
will  be  more  to  say  later. 

"Deep  roots,  so  admirably  adapted  to  the  utiliza- 
tion of  the  lower  strata  of  the  soil,  become  in  other 
circumstances  a  source  of  serious  difficulty.  Sup- 
pose a  tree  is  to  be  transplanted.  Its  long  tap-root 
will  make  the  operation  difficult  and  hazardous.  You 
must  dig  deep,  both  in  pulling  it  out  and  in  replant- 
ing it;  and  then  you  must  be  careful  not  to  injure 
the  root,  for  it  is  all  in  one  piece  and  if  it  does  not 
take  hold  and  grow  the  sapling  will  die.  In  this  case 
it  would  be  much  to  the  tree's  advantage  to  have 
fibrous  roots  running  down  only  to  a  slight  depth; 
it  could  then  be  pulled  up  easily,  and  if  some  roots 
perished  in  the  operation  enough  would  be  left  intact 
to  insure  the  success  of  the  transplanting. 

' l  This  result  can  be  obtained :  it  is  no  difficult  mat- 
ter to  make  the  tree  lose  its  tap-root  and  acquire, 
not  a  regular  bundle  of  roots  of  even  length;  but  a 
short  and  much  ramified  root  that  possesses  the  ad- 
vantages of  the  bunch  of  small  roots  without  having 
its  shape.  Thus  in  nurseries  where  young  trees 
remain  for  some  years  before  being  transplanted, 
after  two  years'  growth  a  spade  is  passed  under  the 
surface  of  the  soil  to  cut  off  the  main  root,  which 
would  in  time  become  a  deep  tap-root.  The  stump 
that  remains  then  branches  out  horizontally  without 
going  deeper.  Another  way  is  to  pave  the  nursery 


78  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

bed  with  tiles.  The  tap-root  of  the  young  tree 
pushes  downward  until  it  reaches  this  barrier,  where 
it  is  straightway  forced  to  stop  growing  in  depth 
and  compelled  to  send  out  lateral  branches. 

"The  kind  of  root  we  have  thus  far  been  talking 
about  is  primordial,  original;  every  plant  has  it  on 
emerging  from  the  seed;  it  appears  as  soon  as  the 
seed  germinates.  But  many  plants  have  other  roots 
that  develop  at  different  points  of  the  stem,  replacing 
the  original  root  when  that  dies,  or  at  least  coming 
to  its  aid  if  it  continues  to  live.  They  are  called 
adventitious  roots,  and  they  play  a  highly  important 
part,  notably  in  certain  horticultural  operations  such 
as  propagating  by  slips  and  layers,  which  we  will 
talk  about  later. 

"Besides  these  two  operations,  the  object  of  which 
is  to  multiply  the  plant,  it  is  customary  to  prompt 
the  growth  of  adventitious  roots  either  for  the  pur- 
pose of  fixing  the  plant  more  firmly  in  the  ground 
or  in  order  to  increase  its  yield.  The  best  way  to 
attain  this  result  is  to  bank  up  the  earth  at  the 
base  of  the  stalk.  This  process  is  sometimes  called 
earthing  up.  The  buried  portion  soon  sends  out  a 
great  number  of  roots.  Indian  corn,  for  example, 
if  left  to  itself  is  too  poorly  rooted  to  resist  wind 
and  rain,  which  beat  it  down.  In  order  to  give  it 
greater  stability  the  farmer  earths  up  the  corn.  In 
the  earth  banked  up  at  the  base  of  the  stalk  bundles 
of  adventitious  roots  form  and  furnish  the  plant  a 
firmer  support. 

"Wheat  stalks  bear  on  their  lower  ends  buds 


THE  ROOT  79 

which,  according  to  circumstances,  perish  to  the  det- 
riment of  the  harvest  or  develop  into  roots  and  pro- 
mote the  growth  of  more  ears  of  grain.  Let  us 
suppose  wheat  has  been  sown  in  the  autumn.  In 
that  cold  and  rainy  season  vegetation  is  slow,  the 
stalk  grows  but  little,  and  the  various  buds  remain 
very  close  together  almost  on  a  level  with  the  ground. 
But  if  they  are  favored  by  having  damp  soil  near 
them,  these  buds  send  forth  adventitious  roots  which 
nourish  them  directly  and  promote  a  fullness  of 
growth  that  the  ordinary  root  by  itself  could  not 
have  secured.  Thus  stimulated  by  nourishment, 
these  buds  develop  into  so  many  wheat-stalks,  each 
one  ending  at  a  later  period  in  an  ear  of  grain.  But 
if  wheat  is  sown  in  the  spring,  its  rapid  growth  un- 
der the  influence  of  mild  weather  brings  the  buds  too 
high  for  them  to  send  out  roots.  The  stalk  then 
remains  single.  In  the  first  case  from  one  grain  of 
wheat  sown  there  springs  a  cluster  of  stalks  pro- 
ducing as  many  ears ;  in  the  second  case  the  harvest 
is  reduced  to  its  lowest  terms:  from  one  grain  of 
wheat  one  stalk,  one  ear.  Hence  this  development 
of  the  lower  buds  of  cereals  is  of  the  greatest  im- 
portance. To  obtain  it,  or,  in  agricultural  terms, 
to  make  the  wheat  send  up  suckers,  the  lower  buds 
must  send  down  adventitious  roots,  as  they  will  do 
if  they  are  brought  into  contact  with  the  soil.  To 
this  end,  shortly  after  germination  a  wooden  roller 
is  passed  over  the  field,  and  this  roller,  without 
bruising  the  young  stalks,  pushes  them  deeper  into 
the  ground. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XVI 

BUDS 

1 T  ET  us  take  a  branch  of  lilac  or  any  shrub.  In 
I  J  the  angle  formed  by  each  leaf  and  the  branch 
that  bears  it,  an  angle  called  the  axil  of  the  leaf,  we 
shall  see  a  little  round  body  enveloped  in  brown 
scales.  That  is  a  bud  or,  as  it  is  also  named,  an 
eye. 

"Buds  make  their  appearance  at  fixed  points,  and 
it  is  the  rule  for  one  to  form  in  the  axil  of  each  leaf ; 
it  is  also  the  rule  for  the  tip-end  of  the  branch  to 
bear  one.  Those  situated  in  the  axils  of  the  leaves 
are  called  axillary  buds,  and  those  that  are  found 
on  the  ends  of  branches,  terminal  buds.  They  are 
not  all  equally  vigorous,  the  strongest  being  at  the 
top  of  the  branch,  the  weakest  at  the  bottom.  The 
lower  leaves  even  shelter  such  small  ones  in  their 
axils  that  only  the  closest  scrutiny  will  reveal  them. 
These  diminutive  buds  often  perish  without  develop- 
ing unless  artificially  encouraged  to  do  so.  On  a 
lilac  branch  it  is  easy  to  note  these  differences  of  size 
from  bud  to  bud. 

"Both  terminal  and  axillary  buds  are  divided  into 
two  classes.  In  developing  some  sprout  up  and  pro- 
duce only  leaves ;  these  are  called  leaf  buds.  When 
fully  developed  they  become  shoots  or  scions,  and 


BUDS  81 

finally  branches.  Others  push  upward  but  little  and 
bear  only  flowers  or  leaves  and  flowers  simultane- 
ously. They  are  called  flower  buds,  or  simply  buds. 
It  is  very  easy  to  distinguish  one  kind  from  the 
other  on  our  fruit-trees,  the  leaf  buds  being  long 
and  pointed,  the  flower  buds  round  and  thicker. 

"All  summer  long  the  leaf  buds  grow  in  the  axils 
of  the  leaves ;  they  are  gaining  strength  to  go  through 
the  winter.  Cold  weather  comes  and  the  leaves  fall, 
but  the  buds  remain  in  their  place,  firmly  implanted 
on  a  ledge  of  the  bark,  or  a  sort  of  little  cushion, 
situated  just  above  the  scar  left  by  the  falling  of  the 
adjacent  leaf.  To  withstand  the  rigors  of  cold  and 
dampness,  which  would  be  fatal  to  them,  winter 
clothing  is  indispensable.  It  consists  of  a  warm 
inner  envelope  of  flock  and  down,  and  a  strong  outer 
casing  of  well  varnished  scales.  Let  us  examine 
for  instance  the  bud  of  a  chestnut-tree.  Within  we 
shall  find  a  sort  of  wadding  enswathing  its  delicate 
little  leaves,  while  on  the  outside  a  solid  cuirass  of 
scales,  arranged  with  the  regularity  of  tiles  on  a  roof, 
wraps  it  closely.  Furthermore,  to  keep  out  all 
dampness,  the  separate  pieces  of  this  scale  armor 
are  coated  with  a  resinous  cement  which  now  resem- 
bles dried  varnish,  but  softens  in  the  spring  to  let 
the  bud  open.  Then  the  scales,  no  longer  stuck  to- 
gether, separate,  all  sticky,  and  the  first  leaves  un- 
fold covered  with  a  velvety  red  down.  Nearly  all 
buds,  at  the  time  of  their  spring  travail,  present  in 
different  degrees  this  stickiness  resulting  from  the 
softening  of  their  resinous  coating.  I  will  mention 


82  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

especially  the  buds  of  the  ash,  alder,  and,  above  all, 
the  poplar,  which  when  pressed  between  the  fingers 
emit  an  abundant  yellow  glue,  of  bitter  taste.  This 
substance  is  diligently  gathered  by  the  bees,  which 
use  it  to  make  their  bee-glue,  that  is  to  say  the  ce- 
ment with  which  they  stop  the  fissures  and  rough- 
coat  the  walls  of  their  hive  before  constructing  the 
combs.  Under  its  modest  appearance  the  bud  is  a 
veritable  masterpiece:  its  varnish  excludes  damp- 
ness ;  its  scales  protect  it  from  harmful  atmospheric 
influences;  its  lining  of  flock,  wadding,  downy  red 
hair,  keeps  out  the  cold. 

' '  The  scales  form  the  most  important  part  of  the 
bud's  winter  clothing.  They  are  nothing  more  nor 
less  than  tiny  leaves  hardened  and  toughened,  in 
short  so  modified  as  to  serve  the  purpose  of  pro- 
tection. The  leaves  immediately  under  them  and 
constituting  the  heart  of  the  bud  have  the  usual 
form.  They  are  all  small,  pale,  delicate,  and  ar- 
ranged in  a  marvelously  methodical  manner  so  as  to 
take  up  the  least  possible  room  and  at  the  same 'time 
to  be  contained,  all  of  them,  despite  their  consid- 
erable number,  within  the  narrow  limits  of  their 
cradle.  It  is  surprising  what  a  quantity  of  material 
a  bud  can  make  room  for  under  its  sheath  of  scales 
in  a  space  so  small  that  we  should  find  it  difficult  to 
pack  away  there  a  single  hemp-seed ;  and  yet  it  holds 
leaves  by  the  dozen  or  a  whole  bunch  of  flowers. 
The  bunch  enclosed  in  a  lilac  bud  numbers  a  hundred 
and  more  blossoms.  And  all  this  is  contained  in 
that  narrow  cell,  with  no  tearing  or  bruising  of  any 


BUDS  83 

portion  of  it.  If  the  various  parts  of  a  bud  were 
disconnected,  one  by  one,  if  the  delicate  arrange- 
ment were  once  undone,  what  fingers  would  be  clever 
enough  to  put  it  together  again?  The  principal 
leaves  lend  themselves  to  a  thousand  different  modes 
of  arrangement  in  order  to  occupy  the  least  space 
possible.  They  take  in  the  bud  the  form  of  a  cor- 
net ;  or  they  roll  themselves  up  in  a  scroll,  sometimes 
from  one  edge  only,  sometimes  from  both;  or  they 
fold  up  lengthwise  or  crosswise;  or  they  may  roll 
rip  into  little  balls,  or  crumple  up,  or  fold  like  a  fan. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XVII 

ADVENTITIOUS   BUDS 

BUDS  such  as  we  have  been  considering  appear 
in  the  spring  and  then  spend  the  summer  in 
gaining  strength,  after  which  they  remain  stationary 
and  as  if  wrapped  in  deep  sleep  all  through  the  win- 
ter. The  following  spring  they  wake  up  and  grow 
into  branches  or  blossom  into  flowers.  It  is  plainly 
to  be  seen  that  these  dormant  buds,  as  arboriculture 
calls  them  in  its  picturesque  language,  must,  in  or- 
der to  withstand  the  summer  heat  and  the  winter's 
cold,  be  clothed  so  as  not  to  be  parched  by  the  sun 
or  killed  by  the  frost.  They  are  all  in  fact  covered 
with  a  wrapping  of  scales,  and  for  that  reason  are 
called  scaly  buds.  Buds  of  this  class  are  found  in 
the  lilac,  chestnut,  pear,  apple,  cherry,  poplar,  and 
in  fact  nearly  all  the  trees  of  our  country. 

"But  if  a  tree  can  wait  and  devote  a  whole  year 
to  the  development  of  its  buds,  which  are  clothed 
in  a  sheath  of  scales  because  of  this  waiting,  there 
are  a  multitude  of  plants  that  have  only  a  limited 
time  at  their  disposal:  they  live  only  a  year,  and 
hence  are  called  annuals.  Such  are  the  potato,  car- 
rot, pumpkin,  and  a  great  many  more.  In  a  few 
months  or  days  they  must  hastily  develop  their  buds. 
These,  not  having  to  pass  through  the  winter,  are 

84 


ADVENTITIOUS  BUDS  85 

never  enveloped  in  protecting  scales :  they  are  naked 
buds.  As  soon  as  they  appear  they  elongate,  unfold 
their  leaves,  and  become  branches  taking  part  in 
the  work  of  the  whole.  Very  soon,  in  the  axils  of 
their  leaves,  other  buds  make  their  appearance  and 
behave  like  their  predecessors;  that  is  to  say,  they 
develop  quickly  into  branches  which  in  their  turn 
produce  other  buds.  And  so  on  indefinitely  until 
winter  puts  a  stop  to  this  scaffold  of  branches  and 
kills  the  whole  plant.  Thus  annuals  ramify  rapidly. 
In  one  year  they  produce  several  generations  of 
branches  implanted  one  on  another,  sometimes  more, 
sometimes  fewer,  according  to  their  species  and  their 
degree  of  vigor.  Their  buds,  designed  for  imme- 
diate development,  are  always  naked.  On  the  con- 
trary, those  forms  of  vegetation  that  have  a  long 
life,  such  as  trees,  ramify  slowly;  they  have  only 
one  generation  of  branches  a  year,  and  their  buds, 
destined  to  live  through  the  winter,  are  scaly. 

"Certain  examples  of  plant-life  have  both  kinds 
of  buds.  Such,  for  instance,  are  the  peach-tree  and 
the  grape-vine.  At  the  end  of  winter  the  vine-shoot 
bears  scaly  buds  lined  with  flock,  and  the  peach 
branches  scaly  buds  coated  with  varnish.  Both  be- 
long to  the  class  of  dormant  buds:  they  have  slept 
all  winter  in  their  sheaths  of  fur  and  -scales.  In  the 
spring  they  develop  into  branches  according  to  the 
general  rule;  but  at  the  same  time  there  appear  in 
the  axils  of  the  leaves  other  buds  without  any  pro- 
tecting covering,  and  these  develop  immediately  into 
branches.  Thus  the  grape-vine  and  the  peach-tree 


86  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

beget  two  generations  in  one  year :  the  first,  the  issue 
of  the  scaly  buds  that  have  endured  the  winter ;  the 
second,  naked  buds  formed  in  the  spring  and  develop- 
ing very  soon  after  their  formation.  The  branches 
arising  from  these  latter  finally  give  birth  to  scaly 
buds,  which  sleep  through  the  winter  and  reproduce 
the  same  order  of  things  the  following  year. 

"Both  axillary  and  terminal  buds  are  in  the  nor- 
mal order  of  plant-life :  they  appear  in  all  forms  of 
vegetation  that  live  several  years.  But  when  the 
plant  is  in  danger,  when  by  some  accident  the  regu- 
lar buds  are  lacking  or  insufficient,  others  spring  into 
being  here  and  there  at  haphazard,  even  on  the  root 
if  necessary,  to  restore  a  languishing  vitality  and 
put  the  plant  once  more  in  a  flourishing  condition. 
These  accidental  buds  are  to  the  part  of  the  plant 
above  the  ground  what  adventitious  roots  are  to  the 
part  below  the  ground:  the  menace  of  the  moment 
calls  them  into  existence  at  any  endangered  point. 
The  edges  of  the  wound  caused  by  the  lopping  off  of 
a  branch,  the  part  of  a  tree-trunk  constricted  by  a 
band,  portions  of  the  bark  injured  by  contusion, 
these  are  the  points  where  they  appear  by  preference. 
They  are  called  adventitious  buds,  but  their  struc- 
ture does  not  differ  from  that  of  normal  buds. 

"Adventitious  buds  lend  themselves  to  valuable 
uses.  Suppose  a  number  of  young  saplings  to  be 
planted  at  proper  intervals  in  the  ground.  If  they 
are  then  left  to  themselves  these  saplings  grow  each 
into  a  single  trunk  and  form  collectively  a  wood  or 
forest.  But  it  may  be  of  advantage  to  replace  each 


ADVENTITIOUS  BUDS  87 

of  these  single  trunks  by  a  group  of  several  trunks. 
In  that  case  the  young  plantation  is  cut  down  to  the 
level  of  the  ground,  and  around  the  edge  of  each 
cross-section  there  presently  spring  a  number  of 
adventitious  buds  which  shoot  up  into  an  equal  num- 
ber of  stems,  so  that  each  sapling  that  would  have 
developed  only  one  trunk  is  transformed  into  a  stump 
from  which  start  numerous  sprouts  or  suckers,  all 
of  the  same  age  and  strength.  Then  instead  of  a 
wood  or  forest  we  have  a  growth  of  underbrush,  or 
a  copse.  When  the  suckers  have  acquired  the  de- 
sired size,  a  fresh  cutting  back  lays  them  low  and 
induces  a  still  denser  growth  of  shoots  by  multiply- 
ing the  number  of  wounds.  It  is  thus  that  from  a 
single  stock,  repeatedly  cut  back  and  as  often  re- 
invigorated  by  the  growth  of  adventitious  buds,  a 
quantity  of  wood  is  obtained  exceeding  that  pro- 
duced by  the  free  and  solitary  development  of  one 
tree. 

"Spared  by  the  axe,  the  poplar  rises  in  a  majestic 
obelisk  of  verdure.  The  willow,  so  ungraceful  in 
appearance  along  the  banks  of  our  ditches,  with  its 
shapeless  top  bristling  with  shoots  sticking  out  in 
all  directions,  is,  in  its  natural  state,  a  tree  of  rare 
elegance  on  account  of  the  suppleness  of  its  branches 
and  the  fineness  of  its  foliage.  Considered  as  a 
thing  of  beauty,  it  certainly  has  nothing  to  gain  by 
man's  interference  with  its  mode  of  growth.  But, 
alas,  productivity  does  not  always  go  hand  in  hand 
with  beauty;  and  if  it  is  desired  to  make  these  two 
trees,  the  poplar  and  the  willow,  produce  a  great 


88  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

mass  of  branches  and  fire-wood,  decapitation,  re- 
peated periodically,  transforms  them  into  pollards, 
seamed  with  scars,  gaping  with  bleeding  wounds, 
disfigured  with  bruises,  but  at  the  same  time  con- 
tending against  all  this  hard  usage  by  a  never-failing 
growth  of  adventitious  buds  which  constantly  re- 
place with  increasing  prodigality  the  brushwood  that 
has  fallen  victim  to  the  axe. 

"To  finish  the  subject  of  adventitious  buds — buds 
that  persist  in  multiplying  even  when  the  parent 
stock  languishes,  and  that  withstand  destruction  un- 
til utter  exhaustion  has  set  in — let  us  recall  for  a 
moment  certain  weeds  such  as  dog's-tooth  grass, 
cock-spur  grass,  and  other  grasses  that  are  so  hard 
to  keep  out  of  our  garden  paths  unless  we  do  some- 
thing more  than  merely  rake  the  surface  of  the 
ground.  You  may  have  taken  infinite  pains,  we  will 
say,  to  clean  the  paths,  and  have  left  them  immacu- 
late, or  at  least  you  think  so.  But  you  are  mistaken. 
In  a  few  days  the  grass  has  all  come  back  in  richer 
tufts  than  ever.  The  reason  is  plain  enough  now: 
your  raking  simply  cut  back  the  stems,  leaving 
wounds  that  immediately  covered  themselves  with 
adventitious  buds,  which  quickly  sent  up  new  stalks. 
Thus,  instead  of  destroying,  you  have  multiplied. 
The  only  way  to  clear  the  ground  of  weeds  is  to  pull 
them  up  by  the  roots;  that  done,  you  may  consider 
the  job  well  done." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

BULBS  AND   BULBLETS 

"  A  FTER  attaining  the  requisite  degree  of 
JL\.  strength  the  buds  of  certain  plants  leave  the 
parent  stalk  and,  if  we  may  so  express  it,  emigrate ; 
that  is  to  say,  they  detach  themselves  and  take  root 
in  the  earth,  to  draw  nourishment  directly  there- 
from. Now  it  is  evident  that  a  bud  designed  for 
independent  development  cannot  have  precisely  the 
structure  of  one  destined  never  to  leave  the  parent 
stem.  To  satisfy  its  first  needs  before  roots  capable 
of  nourishing  it  have  been  sent  down  into  the  soil, 
it  must  of  necessity  have  a  certain  prepared  store 
of  nutriment.  Therefore  every  bud  that  emigrates 
carries  a  supply  of  food  with  it. 

' '  There  is  cultivated  in  gardens  a  pretty  little  lily 
native  to  high  mountains,  bearing  orange-colored 
blossoms,  and  known  as  the  bulbiferous  lily.  Here 
is  a  piece  of  the  stalk  with  its  buds  situated  in  the 
axils  of  the  leaves.  These  buds  must  pass  through 
the  winter  and  develop  the  following  spring.  They 
are  covered  with  succulent  scales,  very  thick,  tender, 
and  fleshy,  good  for  nourishment  as  well  as  for  pro- 
tection. This  store  of  provisions  makes  the  bud 
quite  plump.  Toward  the  end  of  summer  some  of 
these  buds  leave  the  mother  plant;  they  fall  at  the 


90  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

slightest  wind,  scatter  on  the  ground,  and  are  hence- 
forth given  over  to  their  own  resources.  If  the  sea- 
son is  a  wet  one,  many  of  them,  still  in  place  at  the 
axils  of  the  leaves,  send  out  one  or  two  little  roots 
that  hang  in  the  air  as  if  trying  to  reach  the  ground. 
Before  October  arrives  all  the  buds  have  fallen. 
Then  the  mother  stalk  dies.  Soon  the  autumn  winds 
and  rains  cover  the  scattered  buds  with  dead  leaves 
and  mold.  Under  this  shelter  they  swell  all  winter 
from  the  juices  of  their  scales,  plunge  their  roots  into 
the  ground  little  by  little,  and,  behold,  in  the  spring 
each  one  displays  its  first  green  leaf,  continues 
henceforth  its  independent  growth,  and  finally  be- 
comes a  plant  like  the  -original  lily. 

"The  fleshy,  scaly  buds  destined  to  develop  inde- 
pendently of  the  mother  stalk  are  called  bulblets. 
No  plant  known  to  agriculture  could  furnish  us  so 
striking  an  example  of  bud-emigration  as  the  bulbif- 
erous  lily;  but  in  our  kitchen  gardens  we  have  garlic, 
which  acts  in  almost  the  same  way.  Take  a  whole 
head  of  garlic.  On  the  outside  are  dry,  white  wrap- 
pings. Strip  these  off  and  underneath  you  will  find 
large  buds  which  can  easily  be  detached  one  by  one. 
Then  come  more  white  wrappings  followed  by  new 
buds,  so  that  the  entire  head  is  a  package  of  alter- 
nate wrappings  and  buds. 

"These  wrappings  are  the  dried-up  lower  portions 
of  the  old  leaves  of  the  plant,  leaves  blanched  where 
the  soil  covered  them,  and  where  they  still  remain, 
and  formerly  green  where  exposed  to  the  air,  though 
that  part  is  now  lacking.  In  the  axils  of  these  leaves 


BULBS  AND  BULBLETS  91 

buds  have  formed  according  to  the  general  rule; 
only,  as  they  are  destined  to  develop  by  themselves, 
they  have  stored  up  supplies  in  their  thickened 
scales,  and  that  is  what  makes  them  unusually  large. 
Split  one  of  them  lengthwise.  Under  a  tough  sheath 
you  will  find  an  enormous  fleshy  mass  forming  al- 
most the  whole  of  the  bud.  That  is  the  storehouse. 
With  such  supplies  of  food  the  bud  is  well  able  to 
take  care  of  itself.  And,  in  fact,  when  a  market- 
gardener  wishes  to  raise  a  crop  of  garlic,  he  does 
not  have  recourse  to  the  seed;  that  would  take  too 
long.  He  turns  his  attention  to  the  buds;  that  is 
to  say,  he  plants  in  the  ground,  one  by  one,  the  bulb- 
lets  of  which  the  heads  of  garlic  are  composed. 
Each  of  these  bulblets,  sustained  at  first  by  its  own 
reserves  of  food,  puts  forth  roots  and  leaves  and  be- 
comes a  complete  garlic  plant. 

"From  the  bulblet  to  the  bulb,  from  garlic  to  an 
onion,  there  is  but  a  single  step.  Let  us  split  an 
onion  in  two  from  top  to  bottom.  We  shall  find  it 
composed  of  a  succession  of  fleshy  scales  compactly 
fitted  together.  In  the  heart 
of  this  cluster  of  succulent 
scales,  which  are  nothing  but 
leaves  so  modified  as  to  form  a 
food-storehouse,  are  found 
other  leaves  of  normal  shape 
and  green  color.  An  onion,  then,  is  a  bud  pro- 
visioned for  an  independent  life  by  the  conversion 
of  its  outside  leaves  into  fleshy  scales ;  and  it  is  called 
a  bulb?  not  a  bulblet,  because  of  its  size,  the  latter 


92  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

term  being  the  diminutive  form  of  'bulb.'  Bulb  and 
bulblet  differ  merely  in  size :  the  bulb  is  larger,  the 
bulblet  smaller,  and  that  is  all. 

"Every  one  has  noticed  that  an  onion  hanging 
on  the  wall  ready  at  hand  for  the  cook,  is  awakened 
to  life  in  the  course  of  the  winter  by  the  heat  of  the 
room,  and  from  within  its  envelope  of  red  scales 
puts  forth  a  beautiful  green  shoot  that  seems  to  pro- 
test against  the  rigors  of  the  season  and  reminds  us 
of  the  sweet  pleasures  of  spring.  As  it  develops, 
its  fleshy  scales  wrinkle,  soften,  become  flabby,  and 
finally  fall  off  in  decay  to  serve  as  fertilizer  fer  the 
young  plant.  Sooner  or  later,  however,  its  store  of 
provision  being  exhausted,  the  shoot  perishes  unless 
placed  in  earth.  There  we  have  a  striking  example 
of  a  bud  that  develops  independently  by  means  of  its 
own  accumulated  supplies.  The  leek  is  also  a  bulb, 
but  very  slender  in  shape.  Like  the  onion,  it  con- 
sists of  a  cluster  of  lower  leaf-parts  sheathed  one 
inside  another.  Among  ornamental  plants  having 
bulbs  are  the  lily,  the  tulip,  and  the  hyacinth." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

TUBERS STARCH 

THERE  are  buds  that,  though  called  to  an  inde- 
pendent existence,  do  not,  before  separating 
from  the  mother  plant,  store  up  provisions  nor 
thicken  their  scales;  but  the  plant  itself  is  charged 
with  feeding  them.  When  it  is  intended  that  the 
stem  or  branch  shall  itself  maintain  the  buds  it 
bears,  then,  instead  of  coming  out  into  the  open  air 
where  it  would  speedily  cover  itself  with  foliage 
and  flowers,  it  remains  underground  and  has  for 
leaves  only  rudimentary  scales.  It  grows  so  cor- 
pulent and  deformed  as  to  cease  to  bear  the  name 
of  branch  and  to  take  instead  that  of  tuber.  As 
soon  as  necessary  supplies  have  been  stored  up,  the 
tuber  detaches  itself  from  the  mother  plant,  and 
thenceforth  the  buds  it  bears  find  in  it  abundant 
nourishment  for  their  separate  existence.  A  tuber, 
then,  is  an  underground  branch  swollen  with  nutri- 
tive material  and  having  undeveloped  scales  in  place 
of  leaves,  and  it  is  also  dotted  here  and  there  with 
buds  which  it  must  feed. 

"Let  us  now  look  at  a  potato.  What  do  we  see 
on  the  surface?  Certain  small  cavities  or  eyes;  that 
is  to  say,  so  many  buds,  for  these  eyes  develop  into 

93 


94  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

branches  if  the  potato  is  placed  in  favorable  condi- 
tions. On  old  potatoes,  late  in  the  season,  the  buds 
are  seen  to  send  forth  sprouts  which  need  only  a  lit- 
tle sunshine  to  turn  green  and  become  stalks.  Agri- 
culture makes  good  use  of  this  peculiarity :  to  propa- 
gate the  plant  it  is  customary  to  put  into  the  ground, 
not  the  seeds,  which  would  yield  no  harvest  before 
the  lapse  of  several  years,  but  the  tubers,  which  pro- 
duce abundantly  the  same  year.  Or  else  the  potato 
is  cut  into  pieces  and  each  piece,  planted  in  the 
ground,  sends  up  a  new  plant  on  condition  that  it  has 
at  least,  one  eye ;  if  it  has  none  it  rots  without  pro- 
ducing anything. 

4 'Furthermore,  you  can  see  on  the  eyes  tiny  little 
scales,  which  are  leaves  modified  to  adapt  them  to  an 
underground  life,  leaves  with  the  same  right  to  the 
name  as  the  tough  scales  of  an  ordinary  bud.  Since 
it  has  leaves  and  buds  the  potato  is  therefore  a 
branch.  Should  there  remain  any  lingering  doubts 
on  this  subject,  it  might  be  added  that  by  earthing 
up  the  plant,  that  is  to  say  by  heaping  soil  around 
the  stalk,  the  young  branches  thus  buried  can  be 
converted  into  potato-bearers ;  and  it  might  also  be 
added  that  in  rainy  and  cloudy  seasons  it  is  not  rare 
to  see  some  of  the  ordinary  branches  thicken  and 
swell  up  in  the  open  air,  and  thus  produce  potatoes 
more  or  less  perfect.  Accordingly  the  potato  is  to 
be  regarded  as  an  underground  branch  swollen  with 
nourishment— in  short,  a  tuber. 

"Many  other  plants  produce  similar  branches  that 
grow  under  ground.  In  this  number  is  the  Jerusa- 


TUBERS— STARCH  95 

lem  artichoke,  the  tubers  of  which  have  buds  ar- 
ranged two  by  two  on  opposite  swellings,  from  front 
to  back  and  from  right  to  left  in  turn,  exactly  as  are 
leaves  and  buds  on  the  stem. 

"The  potato  feeds  its  buds  on  a  farinaceous  sub- 
stance called  fecula  or,  in  less  learned  language, 
starch.  It  is  the  very  material  that  makes  the  vege- 
table so  rich  in  nutriment  for  us.  We  turn  to  our 
own  account  what  the  plant  has  stored 
up  for  its  young  shoots.  Starch  is  con- 
tained in  the  extremely  small  cavities 
with  which  the  flesh  of  the  tuber  is  all 
riddled.  These  cavities  are  called  cells. 
They  are  microscopic  sacs  made  of  a 
fine  membrane  and  having  no  opening.  gtarch  Grah 
Crammed  full  of  starch  grains  and  Potato 
crowded  one  against  another,  they  compose  the 
fleshy  substance  of  the  potato.  But  these  cavities 
are  so  small  that  a  person  would  strain  his  eyes  in 
vain  in  any  attempt  to  see  them  in  the  cross-section 
of  a  potato.  A  magnifying  glass  is  necessary.  So 
minute  are  the  cells  that  in  a  piece  of  potato  no  larger 
than  a  pin's  head  there  is  room  for  dozens  and  doz- 
ens of  them.  This  picture  -shows  you,  but  much 
larger  than  in  nature,  a  potato  cell  with  the  grains 
of  starch  it  encloses." 

"How  beautifully,"  exclaimed  Emile,  "those 
grains  of  starch  are  arranged  in  their  little  cubby- 
hole !  They  might  be  taken  for  a  nest  of  eggs.  And 
you  say  there  are  heaps  and  heaps  of  these  little 
starch  cells?" 


96  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

"Yes,  my  boy;  in  a  medium-sized  potato  they 
could  be  counted  by  millions  and  millions." 

"It  must  be  rather  a  curious  sight  to  look  at  a  lit- 
tle piece  of  potato  through  a  powerful  magnifying- 


"It  is  indeed  one  of  the  most  curious  sights,  this 
countless  multitude  -of  starch  grains,  all  the  same 
shape,  all  white  as  snow,  gathered  together  by  tens, 
dozens,  scores,  and  even  more,  in  their  delicate  little 
box-like  cells. 

"Let  us  perform  an  experiment  not  beyond  our 
means ;  let  us  remove  the  starch  from  a  potato.  All 
we  need  to  do  is  to  tear  open  the  cells  in  order  to 
liberate  the  starch  grains,  and  then  filter  them  out. 
Watch  me  do  it.  With  a  kitchen  grater  I  reduce  the 
potato  to  pulp  and  thus  tear  the  cells  open.  Now  I 
put  the  pulp  on  a  piece  of  linen  over  a  large  glass 
and  pour  a  little  water  through  it  with  one  hand 
while  with  the  other  I  keep  stirring  the  pulp.  The 
grains  of  starch  from  the  ruptured  cells  are  washed 
away  by  the  water  and  carried  through  the  meshes 
of  the  fabric,  while  th/3  remnants  of  the  cell-walls, 
being  too  large  to  pass  through,  stay  behind  in  the 
filter. 

"Thus  I  obtain  a  glassful  of  turbid  water.  Look 
at  it  under  a  bright  sun.  In  the  water  a  multitude 
of  white  satiny  specks  are  falling  like  so  much  snow 
and  piling  up  on  the  bottom.  In  a  few  moments  the 
deposit  has  settled.  I  then  throw  away  the  clear 
water  above  it  and  have  left  a  powdery  substance, 
magnificently  white,  which  if  pressed  between  the 


TUBERS— STARCH  97 

fingers  creaks  like  fine  sand.  It  is  the  starch  of  the 
potato,  and  is  made  up  of  such  fine  grains  that  it 
would  take  from  one  hundred  and  fifty  to  two  hun- 
dred to  equal  the  head  of  a  pin  in  size.  Nevertheless 
these  grains,  minute  though  they  are,  have  a  very 
complicated  structure,  each  one  of  them  being  com- 
posed of  a  large  number  of  tiny  leaflets  folded  one 
over  another.  The  picture  I  showed  you  just  now 
will  serve  to  give  you  an  idea  of  these  superposed 
leaflets  that  go  to  make,  all  together,  a  single  grain. 
Now  if  some  of  this  starch  is  boiled  in  a  little  water, 
the  successive  leaflets  of  the  grain  open  and  separate, 
and  the  whole  becomes  an  unctuous  jelly  far  ex- 
ceeding in  volume  that  of  the  starch  used. ' ' 

To  prove  this  assertion,  Uncle  Paul  proceeded  to 
heat  in  a  little  water  the  starch  taken  from  the  po- 
tato, and  soon  the  powdery  matter  was  reduced  to  a 
beautiful  pellucid  jelly. 


CHAPTER  XX 

USES   OP   STAECH 

THAT  jelly,"  remarked  Jules,  "looks  just  like 
the  paste  that  I  make  with  laundry  starch. 
Your  potato  starch  there  in  the  bottom  of  the  glass 
has  exactly  the  same  appearance  as  starch  dissolved 
in  cold  water  for  ironing  clothes." 

"That  close  resemblance,"  replied  his  uncle,  "is 
explained  by  the  fact  that  potato  starch  and  laundry 
starch  are  at  bottom  the  same  thing.  Both  sub- 
stances are  chemically  known  as  f  ecula ;  but  laundry 
starch  is  made  from  cereals,  particularly  wheat, 
while  fecula,  properly  speaking,  comes  either  from 
potatoes  or  from  various  grains  and  roots. 

"Like  the  starch  of  the  potato,  laundry  starch  is 
in  the  form  of  superposed  leaflets,  but  its  grains  are 
much  smaller :  ten  thousand  would  hardly  be  enough 
to  make  a  pellet  the  size  of  a  pin's  head.  And  there 
are  some  still  smaller.  It  would  take  sixty-four 
thousand  grains  of  Indian  corn  starch  to  make  a 
pin's  head  or,  to  be  more  exact,  to  fill  the  inside  of 
a  cube  measuring  one  millimeter  on  a  side;  and  in 
the  case  of  the  beet  it  would  take  ten  millions.  You 
see  that  in  spite  of  their  excessive  smallness,  a  small- 
ness  that  makes  them  invisible  to  the  naked  eye,  the 
starch  grains  of  the  potato  are  giants  in  comparison. 


USES  OF  STARCH  99 

"It  is  chiefly  by  the  varying  size  of  their  micro- 
scopic grains  that  the  starches  of  different  kinds 
are  distinguished  from  one  another.  In  substance 
and  structure  they  are  all  alike.  Placed  in  warm 
water,  their  grains  swell,  burst,  expand  their  leaflets, 
and  the  starch,  from  whatever  source,  is  changed 
into  a  glutinous  jelly. 

"Starch  is  the  food  supply  of  plant-life.  Wher- 
ever we  find  buds  that  are  intended  to  develop  by 
themselves,  wherever  we  find  germs,  there  also  we 
shall  find  a  supply  of  starch  serving  as  a  sort  of 
food  reserve.  Hence  this  peculiar  provision  is  met 
with  in  tubers,  bulbs,  bulblets,  seeds,  and  fleshy  roots. 
Now  when  these  buds  and  germs  develop,  the  starch 
becomes,  in  the  process  of  vegetation,  a  kind  of  sugar 
which,  being  soluble  in  water,  can  be  sent  to  all  parts 
of  the  young  plant  and  serve  it  for  food. 

"By  certain  artificial  devices  this  same  change 
of  starch  into  sugar  can  be  brought  about.  The 
simplest  of  these  devices  is  the  application  of  heat, 
which  always  enters  into  the  preparation  of  farina- 
ceous food.  Let  us  take  a  few  examples.  A  raw 
potato  is  uneatable.  Boiled  in  water  or  roasted  in 
the  ashes,  it  is  excellent.  What  has  happened,  then? 
Heat  has  converted  a  part  of  the  starch  into  sugar, 
and  the  tuber  has  become  a  sugary  farinaceous  paste. 
The  same  can  be  said  of  the  chestnut.  Eaw,  it  is  no 
great  delicacy,  although  at  a  pinch  it  can  be  eaten; 
cooked,  it  is  worthy  of  all  the  praise  we  can  give  it. 
I  appeal  to  you  to  back  me  up  in  this  assertion. 
Here,  then,  we  have  another  transformation  of  starch 


100  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

into  sugar  by  the  action  of  heat.  Beans,  peas,  both 
as  hard  as  bullets  in  the  dry  state  and  of  no  agree- 
able flavor,  are  unmistakably  sweetened  by  being 
boiled  in  water  and  having  their  starch  acted  on 
by  heat.  Our  various  farinaceous  foods  behave  in 
the  same  way.  Ingenuity  brings  into  play  a  more 
powerful  agent  than  heat  alone  to  convert  the  starch 
into  sugar.  It  is  boiled  in  water  and  during  the 
boiling  a  little  sulphuric  acid  or  oil  of  vitriol  is 
added.  Under  the  influence  of  this  energetic  fluid 
the  starch  is  changed  into  a  sugary  syrup.  It  is  of 
course  to  be  understood  that  this  syrup,  as  soon  as 
it  has  been  thus  produced,  is  separated  from  the  oil 
of  vitriol  which  has  served  to  make  it. 

"The  sugar  thus  obtained  is  a  soft,  sticky  sub- 
stance, and  almost  as  sweet  as  honey,  but  very  differ- 
ent from  ordinary  sugar,  which  is  solid  and  comes  in 
beautiful  white  loaves.1  It  is  called  starch-sugar 
or  glucose.  Confectioners  use  it  a  great  deal. 
When  you  crunch  a  sugar-plum — and  I  am  persuaded 
that  you  do  not  underestimate  the  excellence  of 
sugar-plums — do  you  know  what  you  are  eating  ?  A 
composition  of  starch  and  starch-sugar.  I  pass  over 
the  almond  in  the  center;  that  is  beside  the  ques- 
tion. " 

"Do  you  mean  to  say,"  demanded  Jules,  "that  a 
bag  of  sugar-plums  comes  from  such  stuff  as  pota- 
toes and  oil  of  vitriol  ? ' ' 

"Such  is  undoubtedly  the  origin  of  the  delicious 
sugar-plum,"  was  the  reply;  "and  indeed  many  of 

i  The  old  fashioned  loaf-sugar  is  here  meant.— Translator. 


USES  OF  STARCH  101 

the  delicacies  of  the  pastry-cook,  of  the  confectioner, 
and  of  the  manufacturer  of  refreshing  beverages, 
which  you  believe  to  be  sweetened  with  ordinary 
sugar,  really  owe  their  sweet  taste  to  syrup  made 
from  starch — a  much  cheaper  product  than  sugar. 
You  see  the  potato  furnishes  something  else  besides 
the  modest  dishes  with  which  it  supplies  our  table. 

"Nor  is  that  the  whole  story.  Starch-sugar,  or 
glucose,  is  exactly  the  same  as  the  sugar  of  ripe 
grapes.  With  potato-flour,  water,  and  a  few  drops 
of  oil  of  vitriol  there  is  artificially  produced,  in 
enormous  boilers,  the  same  sugary  substance  that 
the  vine  produces  in  its  bunches  of  grapes  with  the 
help  of  the  sun's  rays.  Now  grape  sugar  turns  to 
alcohol  by  fermenting.  Glucose  must  undergo  a  sim- 
ilar change.  And,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  in  northern 
countries  too  cold  to  admit  of  the  cultivation  of  the 
vine,  alcoholic  liquors  are  made  from  starch  pre- 
viously changed  into  sugar.  On  account  of  their 
origin  these  liquors  go  under  the  general  name  of 
potato-brandy.  All  seeds  and  roots  rich  in  starch 
can  be  used  in  similar  manufacture. 

"Beer  is  a  product  of  this  sort.  First  barley  is 
made  to  germinate  by  being  kept  moist  and  warm. 
In  the  process  of  germination  the  starch  is  changed 
into  glucose  for  the  nourishment  of  the  young  shoots. 
When  the  little  plants  begin  to  develop,  the  grain  is 
dried  and  ground  to  flour.  This  mixed  with  water 
furnishes  a  sugary  liquid  which  ferments,  turning 
partly  to  alcohol  and  finally  becoming  beer." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

HISTORY   OF   THE   POTATO 

X  TEXT  to  wheat  no  plant  in  our  part  of  the  world 
ill  is  of  so  much  importance  for  food  as  the  po- 
tato. Its  use  was  not  introduced  into  this  country 
until  toward  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century.  The 
first  appearance  of  the  potato  among  our  people  is 
a  curious  piece  of  history.  Why  should  I  not  relate 
it  to  you!  It  will  show  you  what  noble  efforts  and 
perseverance  are  sometimes  necessary  to  bring  about 
the  adoption,  on  the  part  of  those  wedded  to  blind 
routine,  of  the  simplest,  most  natural  idea,  and  one 
so  rich  in  future  possibilities. 

"The  potato  is  native  to  South  America;  it  came 
to  us  from  the  high  plains  of  Colombia,  Chile,  and 
Peru.  Its  first  appearance  in  Europe  dates  from 
1565.  A  century  and  a  half  later  the  potato  flour- 
ished in  England.  Its  introduction  into  general  use 
in  France  was  slower.  The  first  dish  of  potatoes, 
then  a  high-priced  rarity,  was  served  at  the  table  of 
King  Louis  XIII  in  1616. 

"The  royal  dish  is  to-day  at  the  command  of  the 
poorest;  but  this  was  not  effected  without  a  good 
deal  of  trouble,  as  you  will  see.  For  a  long  time 
the  American  tuber  remained  in  our  country  a  sim- 
ple object  of  curiosity  to  which  were  attributed  in- 
102 


HISTORY  OF  THE  POTATO  103 

jurious  properties,  and  which  agriculture  would 
have  nothing  to  do  with.  Finally,  toward  the  end  of 
the  eighteenth  century  a  worthy  man  succeeded  in 
overcoming  these  prejudices  and  popularized  the 
culture  of  this  valuable  food  plant.  His 
name  is  Parmentier.  Eemember  this 
venerated  name,  my  friends ;  he  who  bore 
it  banished  famine  by  making  the  potato 
supply  the  deficiency  of  wheat. 

"Parmentier  communicated  his  ideas  to 
Louis  XVI.  'The  potato,'  said  he,  'is 
Potato  bread  already  made  and  requiring  neither 
miller  nor  baker.  Take  it  just  as  it  comes  out  of  the 
ground  and  bake  it  in  hot  ashes  or  cook  it  in  boiling 
water,  and  you  will  have  a  farinaceous  food  rivaling 
wheat.  Poor  land  unfit  for  other  crops  will  raise  it, 
and  it  will  henceforth  relieve  us  of  all  fear  of  those 
terrible  dearths  that  France  has  so  often  suffered  in 
the  past.' 

"Louis  XVI  listened  to  this  proposal  with  eager 
attention,  but  the  difficulty  was  to  make  others  listen 
also.  In  order  to  interest  the  world  of  fashion  in 
the  culture  of  the  disdained  tuber  the  king  appeared 
at  a  public  festival  one  day  with  a  large  bouquet  of 
potato  blossoms  in  his  hand.  Curiosity  was  aroused 
at  the  sight  of  these  white  flowers  tinged  with  violet 
and  set  off  by  the  dark  green  of  the  leaves.  They 
were  talked  of  at  court  and  in  town;  florists  made 
imitations  of  them  for  their  artificial  bouquets;  in 
ornamental  gardens  they  were  used  for  the  borders ; 
and  as  the  surest  way  to  royal  favor  the  nobles  sent 


104  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

potatoes  to  their  tenant  farmers  with  orders  to  plant 
and  cultivate  them." 

"Behold  the  potato  fairly  started  on  the  right 
road!"  interposed  Jules.  "It  cannot  fail  to  become 
popular  now,  under  the  protection  of  king  and 
court." 

"Not  so  fast,  my  little  friend.  Persuasion  is  a 
good  deal  better  than  command.  The  tubers  pat- 
ronized by  royalty  were  thrown  on  the  dunghill.  At 
most,  here  and  there  a  farmer,  afraid  of  being  repri- 
manded, allowed  them  to  grow  as  best  they  could 
in  some  neglected  corner." 

"And  then!" 

"Then  the  only  thing  to  do  was  to  convince,  not 
the  nobleman  who  cared  nothing  for  the  potato  ex- 
cept as  a  means  for  winning  the  king's  favor,  but 
the  peasant  himself  directly  interested  in  this  af- 
fair. It  was  necessary  to  overcome  his  repugnance, 
a  repugnance  that  made  him  reject  the  potato  even 
as  fodder  for  cattle ;  he  must  be  taught  by  his  own 
experience  that  the  tuber  of  ill  repute,  far  from  be- 
ing a  poison,  is  excellent  food.  All  this  Parmentier 
thoroughly  understood  and  he  set  to  work  without 
delay." 

"This  time  he  is  sure  to  succeed." 

"Not  at  first  and  not  without  great  pains.  In 
the  suburbs  of  Paris  he  bought  or  rented  for  farm- 
ing large  tracts  of  land  which  he  caused  to  be  planted 
with  potatoes.  The  first  year  the  harvest  was  sold 
at  a  very  low  price.  A  few  people  bought  some. ' ' 

"Now  we  are  nearing  the  goal." 


HISTORY  OF  THE  POTATO  105 

"Not  yet.  Good  is  not  accomplished  so  easily. 
The  second  year  the  potatoes  were  given  away  for 
nothing.  Nobody  wanted  them." 

"And  Parmentier  was  left  with  the  whole  crop  on 
his  hands?" 

"The  excellent  man  could  not  find  a  welcome  for 
a  single  basket  of  potatoes.  In  the  country  they 
laughed  maliciously  at  his  obstinacy  in  cultivating 
a  vile  root  that  no  peasant  would  even  feed  to  his 
pigs.  But  Parmentier  did  not  despair.  A  singular 
idea  came  to  him :  to  see  whether  the  charm  of  for- 
bidden fruit  would  not  accomplish  what  he  had  failed 
to  effect  by  his  writings,  his  advice,  his  personal 
example,  and  his  generous  offers. 

"A  large  field  was  planted  with  potatoes,  and  when 
the  crop  was  ripe  a  fence  was  built  about  the  field 
as  if  to  protect  a  most  valuable  harvest.  And  more 
than  this,  Parmentier  caused  it  to  be  trumpeted 
abroad  throughout  the  neighboring  villages  that  it 
was  expressly  forbidden  to  touch  the  potatoes  under 
penalty  of  all  the  rigors  of  the  law  against  maraud- 
ers. During  the  day  the  guards  kept  strict  watch 
over  the  field,  and  woe  betide  whoever  should  try 
to  climb  over  the  fence!" 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Emile,  "that  with  all  those 
prohibitions  and  guards  and  fences  Parmentier  was 
more  likely  than  ever  to  have  all  his  potatoes  to  him- 
self." 

"Such  was  not  his  purpose;  far  from  it.  The 
guards  kept  good  watch  during  the  day,  but  they  had 
orders  to  stay  at  home  at  night  and  leave  unmolested 


106  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

any  who  might  attempt  to  get  into  the  field.  'What, 
then,  is  this  plant  that  is  guarded  with  such  jealous 
care?'  the  peasants  asked  one  another,  attracted  by 
the  strictness  of  the  prohibitory  measures.  'It  must 
be  very  precious.  Let  us  try  to  get  some  when  the 
night  is  dark.  * 

"Some  bold  maurauders  climbed  the  fence,  hastily 
pulled  up  a  dozen  tubers,  and  scampered  off  again, 
looking  back  to  make  sure  they  were  not  pursued. 
Not  a  guard  was  to  be  seen.  Word  soon  spread  that 
the  field  was  not  guarded  at  night.  Then  the  pillage 
began  in  earnest:  the  tubers  hitherto  so  despised 
were  carried  off  by  sackfuls.  In  a  few  days  there 
was  not  a  potato  left  in  the  ground. 

"People  came  and  told  Parmentier  of  the  devasta- 
tion of  his  field.  The  worthy  man  wept  for  joy;  the 
one  robbed  blessed  his  robbers.  By  his  ruse  he  had 
endowed  his  country  with  an  inestimable  food-sup- 
ply ;  for,  once  placed  in  the  hands  of  those  who  would 
consent  to  cultivate  it,  the  potato  was  valued  at  its 
true  worth  and  spread  rapidly." 

"Oh,  what  a  curious  story!"  cried  Louis,  when 
Uncle  Paul  had  finished;  "what  a  curious  story! 
Who  would  have  thought  it  took  all  that  trouble  to 
make  people  accept  a  food  that  to-day  is  of  such  value 
to  us!  Is  it,  then,  so  very  hard  to  spread  a  good 
idea  when  it  is  new?" 

"Very  hard  indeed,"  replied  Uncle  Paul,  "as 
those  well  know  who  make  it  their  mission  to  fight 
against  prejudice  and  ignorance. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXII 

ASCENDING   SAP 

let  us  see  how  the  plant  is  nourished  by  the 
various  substances  of  which  we  have  just  stud- 
ied the  most  important.  Every  form  of  plant-life 
is  made  up,  not  of  a  compact  and  uniform  mass  of 
matter  with  no  occasional  empty  spaces,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  with  the  aid  of  a  microscope  it  is  seen 
that  an  infinite  number  of  very  minute  cavities  called 
cells  are  interspersed  throughout  the  body  of  the 
plant.  These  cells  may  be  regarded  as  extremely 
small  closed  sacs,  sometimes  round,  sometimes  oval, 
but  more  often  with  irregular  and  angular  outlines 
by  reason  of  the  mutual  pressure  exerted  by  the  cells. 
The  cell-wall  is  composed  of  an  excessively  fine  mem- 
brane. In  the  pith  of  the  elder,  all  riddled  like  a 
sponge,  you  have  an  example  of  cells  large  enough 
to  be  seen  without  a  microscope.  Other  cavities 
are  long,  pointed  at  both  ends  and  swollen  in  the 
middle  like  a  spindle.  They  are  called  fibers.  Still 
others  form  canals  of  uniform  size  throughout,  as 
fine  as  a  hair  and  long  enough  to  extend  from  the 
roots  to  the  topmost  leaves.  These  canals  are  called 
ducts.  Look  closely  at  the  cross-section  of  a  very 
dry  vine-branch,  and  you  will  see  a  multitude  of 
orifices  into  which  it  would  be  possible  to  thrust  a 
107 


108  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

hair.  Those  are  the  openings  into  so  many  broken 
ducts.  Everything  in  the  plant,  absolutely  every- 
thing—root, stalk,  wood,  bark,  leaves,  flowers,  fruit, 
seeds,  no  matter  what— is  composed  of  a  mass  of 
cells,  fibers,  and  ducts. 

"That  understood,  let  us  consider  the  root  of  the 
plant.  In  its  new  parts,  at  the  tip-ends  of  its  finest 
ramifications,  tip-ends  that  we  have  called  spongioles, 
it  is  composed  of  cells  just  formed  and  consequently 
tender  and  fitted  for  absorbing  easily  the  moisture 
in  the  soil.  Spongioles,  then,  fill  themselves  much 
as  sponges  would  do.  That  done,  conduits  offer 
their  services  for  conveying  the  liquid  to  the  top  of 
the  plant:  they  are  the  ducts  just  referred  to,  and 
comparable  here  to  the  water-pipes  in  our  own  foun- 
tains. But  if  in  fountains  water  runs  by  its  own 
weight,  going  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest  point, 
it  is  not  so  with  the  liquid  absorbed  by  the  roots,  a 
liquid  running  from  below  upward.  What  then  is 
the  force  that  makes  it  ascend? 

"This  force  is  in  the  buds  or,  to  speak  more  cor- 
rectly, in  the  leaves.  Each  leaf  is  the  seat  of  an 
active  evaporation  whose  object  is  to  rid  the  plant 
of  the  great  quantity  of  water  required  for  dissolv- 
ing in  the  soil  and  then  conveying  to  the  leaves  the 
nutritive  substances  present  in  the  soil.  This  evap- 
oration leaves  a  void  in  the  cells  that  have  given 
up  the  evaporated  water.  But  this  void  is  imme- 
diately filled  from  the  neighboring  cells,  which  give 
up  their  contents  and  receive  in  turn  the  contents 
of  the  next  lower  layers.  From  cell  to  cell,  from 


ASCENDING  SAP  109 

fiber  to  fiber,  from  duct  to  duct,  a  similar  transfer 
takes  place  at  points  farther  and  farther  away  from 
the  evaporating  surface,  until  the  tip-ends  of  the 
rootlets  are  reached,  where  a  continuous  absorption 
makes  good  the  loss  of  moisture  by  evaporation. 
The  process  reminds  one  somewhat  of  the  working 
of  our  pumps,  in  which  the  piston  leaves  behind  it 
a  void  that  is  immediately  filled  by  the  water  in  the 
pipe,  which  in  its  turn  gets  water  from  the  bottom 
of  the  well.  This  liquid  which  ascends  in  every 
plant,  absorbed  by  the  spongioles  of  the  rootlets 
and  put  in  motion  by  the  evaporation  from  the  leaves, 
is  called  ascending  sap,  or  crude  sap.  The  sap  is 
called  ascending  because  it  passes  from  below  up- 
ward, from  the  roots  to  the  branches ;  and  it  is  called 
crude  because  it  has  not  yet  undergone  the  prepara- 
tion that  will  turn  it  into  the  nutritive  liquid  of  the 
plant.  Thus  we  have  learned  our  first  lesson, 
namely :  ascending  sap  is  carried  especially  to  those 
parts  of  the  plant  where  buds  are  numerous,  where 
leaves  abound;  it  seeks  by  preference  the  ends  of 
the  branches,  where  evaporation  is  most  active. 

"We  know  that  the  surface  wood  is  the  newest; 
it  is  formed  of  cells,  fibers,  and  ducts  whose  cavities 
are  free  and  whose  walls  are  permeable.  The  in- 
terior wood  is  older;  its  cells,  fibers,  and  ducts  are 
encrusted,  stopped  up,  decrepit,  out  of  use.  The 
liquid  accordingly  makes  its  way  where  circulation 
is  possible,  and  ceases  to  flow  where  the  passage  is 
obstructed.  That  is  to  say,  the  ascent  of  the  sap 
takes  place  through  the  sap-wood  and  chiefly  through 


110  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

the  outermost  layers,  or  those  of  most  recent  forma- 
tion. Repeated  experiment  leaves  no  doubt  on  this 
point.  When  a  tree  is  cut  down  at  the  time  of  the 
sap 's  greatest'  activity,  we  find  the  sap-wood  moist 
and  the  older  wood  perfectly  dry.  Finally,  in  herba- 
ceous plants  the  sap  ascends  through  the  whole  body 
of  the  stem.  Suspended  during  the  winter  on  ac- 
count of  the  absence  of  foliage,  this  ascent  of  the  sap 
becomes  remarkably  brisk  at  the  awakening  of  vege- 
tation. Then  it  is  that  fruit-trees  shed  tears,  so 
to  speak,  where  the  pruning-hook  has  left  its  mark ; 
or,  in  other  words,  the  ascending  sap  oozes  from  the 
openings  of  the  severed  ducts.  These  tears  are  espe- 
cially noticeable  in  the  grape-vine,  where  it  has  re- 
cently been  trimmed. 

"Now  what  would  you  expect  to  find  in  this  liquid 
if  you  collected  some  of  it  as  it  trickles  in  the  form 
of  tears  either  from  the  vine  or  from  a  fruit-tree? 
Many  things,  doubtless,  you  will  say,  since  this  pre- 
cious liquid  is  the  prime  source  of  all  that  the  plant 
contains  in  itself.  If  such  is  your  thought,  unde- 
ceive yourselves:  ascending  sap  is  little  more  than 
clear  water,  and  often  it  is  very  difficult  for  science 
to  prove  beyond  a  doubt  the  presence  in  it  of  vari- 
ous substances  in  solution,  so  minute  a  fraction  of 
the  whole  do  they  compose.  Among  these  substances 
the  most  frequent  are  compounds  of  potash,  of  lime, 
of  carbonic  acid  gas,  traces  of  phosphates,  and  com- 
pounds of  nitrogen  or  ammonia.  In  short,  the  liquid 
from  which  the  plant  is  to  derive  its  nourishment  is 
the  weakest  sort  of  broth,  composed  of  an  enormous 


ASCENDING  SAP  111 

quantity  of  water  and  a  very  small  proportion  of 
dissolved  substances.  These  inconsiderable  sub- 
stances are  the  only  or  almost  the  only  things  utilized 
by  the  plant ;  and  the  water  that  has  collected  them 
in  filtering  through  the  soil,  and  has  then  carried 
them  from  the  roots  to  the  leaves  through  the  sap- 
wood,  the  water  that  forms  almost  the  whole  of  the 
ascending  sap,  is  destined,  as  soon  as  the  journey  is 
accomplished,  to  leave  the  plant  and  return  as  vapor 
to  the  atmosphere  whence  it  descended  in  the  form 
of  rain." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

DESCENDING   SAP 

SCENDING  sap,  a  liquid  composed  of  a  large 
quantity  of  water  and  a  very  small  proportion 
of  dissolved  nutritive  substances,  is  absorbed  in  the 
ground  by  the  roots  and  carried  to  the  leaves  through 
the  sap-wood.  It  is  not  yet  a  nutritive  fluid  for  the 
plant ;  it  becomes  so  in  the  foliage  by  a  double  proc- 
ess. First,  on  being  distributed  to  the  leaves,  which 
furnish  a  vast  surface  for  evaporation,  it  exhales 
its  superabundant  water  in  the  form  of  vapor  and 
thus  concentrates  its  usable  ingredients.  Then,  un- 
der the  influence  of  the  sun's  rays  and  through  the 
medium  of  the  green  matter  contained  in  the  leaves, 
it  undergoes  modifications  that  work  a  fundamental 
change  in  its  character.  Among  the  processes  here 
taking  place,  one  of  the  best  known  is  the  decompo- 
sition of  the  carbonic  acid  gas  taken  from  the  air 
by  the  leaves  and  from  the  soil  by  the  roots. 

"We  have  seen  that  this  gas,  the  plant's  chief 
source  of  nourishment,  is  composed  of  carbon  com- 
bined with  the  breathable  part  of  the  air,  or  oxygen. 
Under  the  action  of  the  sun 's  light  the  leaves  decom- 
pose this  gas,  liberating  the  oxygen  in  a  condition 
henceforth  fit  for  the  respiration  of  animals  and 
for  combustion,  while  the  carbon  remains  in  the 
112 


DESCENDING  SAP  113 

plant,  mixes  with  the  substances  brought  by  the 
ascending  sap,  and  with  them  becomes  the  nourish- 
ing liquid,  the  descending  or  elaborated  sap,  from 
which  all  future  parts  of  the  plant  are  to  be  formed. 
This  liquid  cannot  be  called  wood,  bark,  leaf,  flower, 
or  fruit ;  it  is  not  at  all  like  any  of  these,  and  yet 
it  is  essentially  a  little  of  them  all.  An  animal's 
blood  is  neither  flesh,  bone,  nor  fleece;  but  bone, 
flesh,  and  fleece  are  of  its  substance.  Likewise  the 
elaborated  sap  is -a  liquid  designed  for  the  sustenance 
of  all  parts  of  the  plant ;  it  contains  matter  for  fruit 
and  wood,  leaves  and  flowers,  bark  and  buds.  It  is 
the  plant 's  blood ;  everything  in  the  plant  gets  from 
it  its  nourishment,  its  wherewithal  to  develop. 
What  a  wonderful,  what  an  incomprehensible  process 
its  production  appears  to  us !  In  the  crowded  ranks 
of  the  leaf-cells,  where  one  would  suppose  every- 
thing to  be  at  rest,  what  activity,  what  transforma- 
tions beyond  the  reach  of  human  science!  Liquids 
swell  the  cells,  ooze  from  one  to  another,  transpire, 
infiltrate,  circulate,  exchange  their  dissolved  sub- 
stances ;  vapors  are  exhaled,  gases  come,  others  go ; 
the  sun's  light  separates  what  was  united,  unites 
what  was  separated,  and  the  raw  materials  of  the 
ascending  sap  combine  henceforth  with  the  materials 
of  life. 

"The  elaborated  sap  descends  from  the  leaves  to 
the  twigs,  from  the  twigs  to  the  branches,  from  the 
branches  to  the  stalk  or  trunk,  and  from  the  latter 
to  the  root,  distributing  itself  here  and  there  on  its 
way.  It  circulates  between  the  wood  and  the  bark. 


114  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

It  is  this  sap  that,  in  the  spring,  when  it  is  in  great 
abundance,  forms  between  the  wood  and  the  bark 
a  thin  layer  of  slightly  viscous  moisture  and  makes 
the  bark  easy  to  peel  from  its  branch.  Which  of  you 
in  the  month  of  May  has  not  taken  advantage  of 
this  peculiarity  to  peel  off  all  in  one  piece  a  tube 
of  bark  from  a  very  smooth  twig  of  willow  or  lilac 
in  order  to  make  a  whistle,  trumpet,  or  other  noisy 
plaything,  the  delight  of  boys  of  your  age? 

"Nothing  is  easier  than  to  prove  the  passage  of 
sap  from  above  downward.  If  you  remove  from  a 
tree-trunk  an  annular  band  of  bark,  the  nourishing 
liquid  oozes  and  accumulates  at  the  upper  edge  of 
the  wound,  but  nothing  of  the  sort  takes  place  at 
the  lower  edge.  Arrested  thus  by  a  break  in  its 
path,  the  sap  accumulates  above  the  uncovered  ring 
and  causes  there  an  abundant  growth  of  wood  and 
bark,  which  piles  up  in  the  form  of  a  thick  circular 
swelling,  while  below  the  ring  the  trunk  preserves  its 
former  size. 

"A  tight  ligature,  by  compressing  and  obstruct- 
ing the  passages  through  which  the  nutritive  fluid 
has  to  pass,  causes  the  formation  of  a  similar  swell- 
ing above  the  line  of  stoppage.  You  may  have  seen 
a  sapling,  bound  too  tightly  to  the  stake  intended 
for  its  support,  strangled  by  its  own  growth  if  the 
gardener  has  forgotten  to  loose  the  band  in  time. 
Little  by  little  the  trunk  swells  above  this  band, 
which  is  finally  overgrown  by  the  bark  and  even  hid- 
den within  its  substance.  Indeed,  it  is  not  rare  to 
find  a  tree  with  its  trunk  caught  fast  in  a  narrow 


DESCENDING  SAP  115 

passage,  as  for  example  in  the  crevice  of  a  rock,  and 
swollen  above  the  obstacle  into  an  unsightly  excres- 
cence. The  stoppage  of  the  sap  in  its  downward 
course  explains  this  phenomenon. 

"If  the  tree-trunk  is  not  completely  encircled  by 
the  stricture,  if  somewhere  there  is  a  strip  of  bark 
left  free  to  serve  as  a  passage,  the  nourishing  juice 
takes  this  way  to  get  around  the  obstacle,  and  so 
pursues  its  course  to  the  roots.  Then  the  tree  con- 
tinues to  live.  But  if  the  barrier  is  absolutely  in- 
superable, as  in  the  case  of  an  unyielding  ligature 
or  when  the  tree  has  been  girdled,  the  sap  cannot 
descend  to  the  roots  to  nourish  them;  and  with  the 
death  of  these  the  end  of  the  tree  is  not  far  distant. 

"An  important  lesson  remains  to  be  drawn  from 
these  details  concerning  the  circulation  of  this  nu- 
tritive liquid  in  plants.  Henceforth,  when  we  fasten 
a  plant  to  its  prop  or  supporting  stake,  we  shall  be 
careful  not  to  tie  the  string  too  tight  or  else  to  loosen 
it  at  the  proper  time,  since  otherwise  we  should  run 
the  risk  of  strangling  the  plant  and  so  causing  its 
death." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

TREE-PRUNING 

SELF-PRESERVATION  is  the  first  law  of  a 
tree's  life,  and  next  to  that  the  preservation 
of  its  species,  which  is  to  be  perpetuated  by  means 
of  seeds.  All  this  is  perfectly  natural,  for  no  pos- 
terity would  be  possible  to  the  tree  unless  its  own 
existence  were  maintained  in  the  first  place.  Ac- 
cordingly the  tree  lives  first  for  itself,  accomplishing 
this  object  by  covering  itself  with  buds  that  develop 
into  branches  covered  with  leaves.  It  is  indeed  on 
the  leaves  that  the  fundamental  principles  of  the 
plant's  life  are  based;  it  is  in  their  substance  that, 
with  the  sun's  help,  the  descending  sap  is  elaborated, 
this  sap  being  the  nutritive  fluid,  the  life-blood  as 
it  were,  of  the  vegetable  organism.  The  propaga- 
tion of  the  species  comes  next  in  importance.  This 
duty  devolves  on  the  flower-buds  or  those  that  blos- 
som and  produce  fruit,  in  the  center  of  which  are  the 
seeds. 

"Thus,  left  to  its  own  impulses,  a  tree,  if  vigorous 
and  enjoying  favorable  conditions,  at  first  uses  all 
its  sap  in  making  buds  for  the  increase  of  its  own 
woody  structure ;  it  covers  itself  with  stout  branches 
and  abundant  foliage  before  making  up  its  mind  to 
blossom.  Later,  when  its  limbs  are  strong  and  the 

116 


TREE-PRUNING  117 

ardor  of  growth  begins  to  abate,  the  flower-buds  ap- 
pear, but  usually  in  small  numbers  because  a  prod- 
igal production  of  fruit  causes  rapid  decline.  Co- 
pious blossoming  comes  only  toward  the  latter  part 
of  life;  a  tree  never  blossoms  better  than  when  it 
is  about  to  die,  as  if,  foreseeing  its  end,  it  strove 
before  succumbing  to  leave  behind  it  a  numerous 
progeny.  A  thriving  tree  blossoms  little  or  not  at 
all ;  a  sickly  tree  makes  haste  to  blossom.  But  it  is 
to  man's  interest  that  a  tree  should  blossom  and 
bear  fruit  as  early  and  as  abundantly  as  possible; 
we  demand  from  it  not  the  branches  it  would  give 
us  without  our  intervention,  but  baskets  of  fruit 
induced  by  our  care.  From  this  struggle  between 
the  natural  tendencies  of  the  tree  and  our  own  needs 
has  sprung  the  practice  of  pruning,  or  the  art  of 
manipulating  fruit-trees  so  as  to  obtain  from  them 
an  abundant  harvest. 

"Here  let  us  examine  the  general  principles  that 
are  to  guide  us  in  the  practice  of  this  art.  The 
shape  to  be  given  the  tree's  superstructure  of 
branches  and  foliage  is  the  first  question  we  must 
consider.  This  shape  is  far  from  being  unimpor- 
tant; it  is,  on  the  contrary,  very  important,  since 
the  circulation  of  the  sap  and  the  distribution  of 
the  sun's  rays,  essential  conditions  to  plant-life,  are 
strictly  dependent  on  it.  If  the  tree  is  left  free  to 
develop  by  itself  and  to  take  its  natural  form,  the 
sap  from  the  roots  will,  under  the  impetus  of  its 
ascent,  always  seek  by  preference  the  highest  points, 
where  growth  will  in  consequence  proceed  with  vigor, 


118  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

while  the  lower  parts  will  languish  and  die  out  for 
want  of  sufficient  nourishment.  If  the  branches  are 
not  properly  thinned  the  central  ones,  deprived  of 
the  sun's  vivifying  rays,  will  remain  poor,  puny, 
more  or  less  blanched.  On  the  other  hand,  the  tree 
ought  to  fill,  as  far  as  possible,  the  place  assigned 
it,  in  order  that  there  may  be  no  unproductive  space. 
"These  conditions  prescribe  the  tree's  shape. 
First  of  all,  it  should  be  symmetrical,  in  order  that 
the  distribution  of  nourishment  may  be  even  and  no 
part  of  the  tree  be  gorged  with  sap  while  another 
part  is  deprived  of  it.  Secondly,  the  sun's  rays 
should  be  allowed  to  penetrate  everywhere  so  as  to 
ripen  the  fruit  and  facilitate  in  the  foliage  the  im- 
portant work  of  sap-elaboration.  To  attain  these 
different  objects  custom  has  fixed  upon  three  princi- 
pal shapes:  the  trellis,  the  pyramid,  and  the  goblet. 
In  trellis  pruning  the  tree  spreads  its  branches  sym- 
metrically, right  and  left,  against  a  wall.  The  wall 
serves  it  as  support  and  as  shelter  from  the  wind; 
it  also  gives  the  foliage  and  fruit  additional  heat  and 
light  by  reflecting  the  sun's  rays  upon  them.  When 
pruned  to  take  the  pyramid  form,  the  tree  has  its 
branches  so  trimmed  as  to  decrease  in  length  regu- 
larly from  the  base  to  the  summit  and  to  remain  far 
enough  apart  to  admit  the  light  to  the  center.  The 
whole  forms  a  sugar-loaf,  a  cone,  into  the  midst 
of  which  sun  and  air  enter  freely.  It  is  the  shape 
most  in  accord  with  nature.  Finally,  the  goblet- 
shaped  tree  has  a  certain  number  of  branches  of 


TREE-PRUNING  119 

equal  vigor  disposed  in  a  circle  around  a  central 
space  that  remains  empty  and  thus  receives  its  share 
of  sunlight  without  hindrance. " 


CHAPTER  XXV 

PINCHING BUD-NIPPING 

the  desired  shape  has  been  obtained 
the  next  thing  is  to  keep  it,  despite  all  oppo- 
sition on  the  part  of  the  tree,  which  revolts  in  its 
own  peculiar  fashion ;  that  is,  it  strives  to  restore  the 
natural  conformation  of  its  branches.  Suppose,  for 
example,  that  a  pear-tree,  pruned  after  the  manner 
of  wall-fruit,  has  grown  all  out  of  symmetry  and 
developed  one  side  more  than  the  other.  How  shall 
the  two  halves  be  restored  to  correct  proportions? 
How  shall  the  too  vigorous  part  be  weakened  and  the 
too  feeble  part  strengthened?  Several  methods  of- 
fer themselves. 

"On  the  vigorous  side  let  us  cut  back  the  branches 
with  the  pruning  shears,  leaving  only  the  base  of 
each  with  a  small  number  of  buds ;  in  other  words, 
let  us  cut  them  very  short.  On  the  weak  side,  on 
the  contrary,  let  us  leave  the  branches  intact  or  cut 
them  very  long,  thus  leaving  them  the  greater  part 
of  their  buds.  What  will  come  of  this  treatment? 
Since  abundant  foliage,  the  active  laboratory  of  the 
descending  sap  and  also  a  kind  of  pump  that  sucks 
up  the  sap  and  causes  it  to  ascend  from  the  roots, 
is  the  prime  cause  of  vigorous  vegetation,  the  weak 
part,  with  its  numerous  buds  developed  into  leafy 


PINCHING— BUD-NIPPING  121 

shoots,  will  grow  stronger,  while  the  strong  part, 
with  its  small  number  of  buds,  will  become  weaker. 
Both  effects  will  tend  to  the  same  result :  the  restora- 
tion of  the  desired  symmetry. 

"With  the  ends  of  the  fingers  and  the  help  of  the 
thumb-nail,  it  is  customary  to  pinch  off  from  the 
too  vigorous  side  the  tips  of  the  young  branches 
while  they  are  still  tender.  This  operation  we  may 
call  pinching.  The  sap  that  would  have  been  used 
for  the  development  of  these  branches  is  diverted 
from  its  course  and  carried  toward  the  weak  shoots, 
which  it  renews  and  stimulates.  If  the  weak  side 
itself  needs  pinching  to  arrest  shoots  that  impair 
the  desired  symmetry,  the  operation  is  postponed  as 
long  as  possible,  while  on  the  strong  side  it  is  car- 
ried out  very  early.  The  sap  thus  turned  away 
from  the  vigorous  side  toward  the  ailing  one  has  a 
whole  season  in  which  to  restore  the  lost  equilibrium. 

"Instead  of  limiting  ourselves  to  pinching  off  the 
tips  of  the  young  shoots  with  our  thumb-nail,  we 
can  suppress  them  altogether  while  they  are  still 
tender.  This  is  done  as  early  as  possible  on  the 
strong  side,  only  the  indispensable  shoots  being  left. 
If  it  is  necessary  on  the  weak  side,  it  is  not  done 
until  the  latest  possible  moment.  This  operation 
we  may  style  bud-nipping,  since  the  word  'bud,'  by 
which  we  designate  the  germ  of  the  future  branch 
when  it  is  still  enveloped  in  scales,  applies  also  for 
the  sake  of  convenience  to  the  branch  already  de- 
veloped but  still  young  and  tender.  It  is  evident 
that  nipping  off  the  buds  from  the  strong  part  tends, 


122  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

even  more  than  pinching,  to  promote  the  desired 
growth  of  the  weak  part.  The  more  branches  we 
suppress  entirely,  the  fewer  will  be  left  to  share  the 
sap  needed  by  the  branches  we  wish  to  strengthen. 

"What  turns  aside  the  sap  from  the  part  pruned, 
pinched,  or  nipped,  toward  the  part  left  intact,  is 
evidently  the  more  or  less  complete  suppression  of 
foliage.  It  is  primarily  the  leaves  that  by  the  con- 
tinual evaporation  of  which  their  surface  is  the  seat 
determine  the  ascent  of  the  liquid  drawn  from  the 
soil  by  the  roots.  The  more  numerous  these  leaves 
are  at  any  one  point,  the  more  abundant  the  flow  of 
sap  to  that  point ;  the  scarcer  they  are,  the  less  the 
flow  of  sap.  To  diminish  at  any  point  the  number  of 
leaves  by  pinching,  bud-nipping,  or  any  other  means, 
is  therefore  to  diminish  at  the  same  point  the  flow 
of  sap,  which  will  go  in  some  other  direction,  to  the 
parts  that  have  more  leaves  and  hence  a  more  rapid 
rate  of  evaporation  to  summon  the  sap.  It  is  plain, 
then,  that  a  middle  course  may  be  followed  between 
the  pinching  that  partly  suppresses  the  foliage  of  a 
young  branch  and  the  bud-nipping  that  suppresses  it 
entirely.  This  middle  course  consists  in  cutting  a 
certain  number  of  leaves  from  the  too  vigorous 
shoots;  and  they  should  be  cut  clean  without  tear- 
ing, by  severing  the  stem  and  leaving  its  base  un- 
disturbed. 

"The  easiest  way  for  the  sap  to  run  from  the 
roots  to  the  foliage  is  from  bottom  to  top  in  a  ver- 
tical line.  Anything  that  interferes  with  this  course 
hinders  also  the  upward  impetus.  Thus  in  branches 


PINCHING— BUD-NIPPING  123 

with  sharp  elbows  and  abrupt  bends  the  rush  of 
sap  is  slackened  just  as  the  rate  of  flow  of  a  water- 
current  is  diminished  by  the  windings  occurring  in 
its  bed.  Thus,  again,  in  a  branch  having  a  decided 
incline  downward  the  sap  moves  with  difficulty,  be- 
cause its  movement  toward  the  extremity  of  this 
branch  is  in  a  direction  contrary  to  that  which  is 
natural  to  it.  The  application  of  this  principle  is 
evident.  If  we  wish  to  moderate  a  too  vigorous 
growth  of  branches,  we  bend  them  toward  the 
ground ;  if  we  wish  to  stimulate  a  too  feeble  growth, 
we  straighten  up  the  branches  until  they  assume  a 
vertical  posture. 

"We  can  also  turn  to  account  the  exhausting  effect 
of  fruit-bearing.  The  more  fruitful  a  branch  is, 
the  weaker  it  becomes,  since  the  use  of  sap  in  fruit 
means  so  much  the  less  for  foliage,  and  it  is  fo- 
liage that  invigorates  the  branch.  Accordingly  we 
will  leave  the  greatest  possible  quantity  of  fruit 
on  the  strong  part  of  our  tree,  and  suppress  it  on 
the  weak  part." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

MAKING   FRUIT   TREES   BEAE 

'  TF  one  side  of  a  tree  is  pruned  very  short  and 
1  the  other  very  long,  the  natural  course  of  the 
sap  is  to  some  extent  diverted  from  the  first  side  to- 
ward the  second,  which  is  richer  in  buds  and  con- 
sequently in  foliage.  We  have  just  seen  how  this 
principle  is  utilized  to  check  the  growth  of  too  vig- 
orous a  part  in  order  to  stimulate  that  of  one  that 
is  too  feeble  and  thus  redress  the  balance  between 
the  two.  But  what  would  be  the  result  if  the  whole 
tree  were  pruned  at  once? 

"Let  us  first  see  what  takes  place  in  a  single 
branch.  Pruned  long,  it  preserves  the  greater  part 
of  its  buds,  all  of  which  call  for  nourishment  from 
the  sap  flowing  in  that  direction;  pruned  short,  it 
keeps  only  a  few  buds,  which  having  the  sap  of  the 
entire  branch  at  their  disposal,  will  receive  each  a 
supply  that  is  superabundant  in  proportion  to  the 
fewness  of  the  buds.  For  example,  what  twelve 
would  ordinarily  have  had  for  consumption,  two  or 
three  will  now  have  to  themselves ;  and  because  of 
this  superabundance  of  nourishment  each  bud  will 
develop  much  more  vigorously  than  it  would  other- 
wise have  done.  Hence  if  the  whole  tree  is  pruned 
with  an  unsparing  hand,  all  the  sap  drawn  from  the 
124 


MAKING  FRUIT  TREES  BEAR  125 

soil  by  the  roots,  having  no  longer  a  tendency  to  go 
to  one  side  rather  than  the  other,  will  be  distributed 
evenly ;  and  the  few  buds  left  intact  by  the  pruning- 
shears  will  show  a  luxuriance  of  growth  in  propor- 
tion to  the  supply  of  nourishment  placed  at  their 
disposal.  Thus  thorough  pruning  applied  to  the 
whole  tree  has  the  effect  of  giving  it  new  vigor,  of 
rejuvenating  it  in  some  measure,  or,  in  other  words, 
of  replacing  its  worn-out  branches  with  vigorous 
ones.  Accordingly  when  a  tree  has  become  ex- 
hausted by  abundant  fruit-bearing,  it  is  pruned  with- 
out stint  one  year  in  order  to  restore  its  vigor  of 
growth. 

"Let  us  now  see  what  we  should  do  if  we  had  quite 
the  opposite  end  in  view;  that  is,  if  we  wished  to 
make  a  tree  blossom  and  bear  fruit.  Here  two  prin- 
ciples will  serve  us  as  guides.  First,  in  the  fulness 
of  its  vigor  a  tree  puts  forth  long  branches  and  thick 
foliage,  but  does  not  cover  itself  with  blossoms,  bear- 
ing in  fact  only  a  few.  It  is  not  until  it  has  be- 
come somewhat  enfeebled  that  it  begins  to  flower  in 
profusion.  Secondly,  what  would  in  the  tree's 
youthful  strength  have  been  a  branch-producing  bud 
becomes  in  its  enfeeblement  a  flower-bud;  so  that 
a  flower  may  be  regarded  as  a  branch  which,  instead 
of  developing  freely  and  covering  itself  with  leaves, 
has  remained  stunted,  thrown  back  upon  itself,  for 
lack  of  vigor,  and  has  exchanged  its  leaves  for  floral 
organs, — sepals,  petals,  stamens,  pistils.  Weaken 
a  tree  and  you  weaken  the  buds ;  such,  in  a  word,  is 
the  prevailing  principle. 


126  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

"To  weaken  the  buds  individually,  the  pruning- 
shears  will  be  plied  but  sparingly,  leaving  the  buds 
almost  intact ;  then  these,  being  many  in  number,  will 
have  so  much  the  less  for  each  one  separately,  and 
some  of  them,  especially  toward  the  lower  part  of  the 
branch,  will  find  themselves  too  feeble  to  contend 
with  the  others  and  therefore  will  take  the  form  of 
flower-buds,  whereas  they  would  have  produced 
branches  and  not  flowers  if  a  more  thorough  pruning 
had  rid  them  of  their  rivals. 

"To  weaken  the  tree  as  a  whole,  all  that  we  have 
to  do  is  to  pinch  off  or  cut  off  with  the  thumb-nail 
the  tender  tips  of  the  young  branches ;  then  we  bend 
these  branches  back  so  as  to  give  them  a  number  of 
crooks  and  turns  that  will  impede  the  circulation  of 
the  sap.  Finally,  the  woody  branches  of  the  pre- 
ceding year  are  broken  by  the  hand,  sometimes 
wholly,  sometimes  half,  so  that  the  tip  is  left  hang- 
ing down.  If  the  tree  is  not  too  vigorous  these  three 
methods,  pinching,  bending,  and  breaking,  are  gen- 
erally sufficient  to  make  it  bear. 

"But  when  we  have  to  do  with  very  exuberant 
vegetation,  more  energetic  methods  are  necessary. 
One  of  these  we  may  call  arching.  The  branches  are 
all  bent  down  so  that  each  forms  an  arch ;  that  is,  the 
tip-end  of  each  is  pulled  down  to  the  ground  and 
fastened  there  in  any  way  that  may  be  easiest.  This 
abnormal  position  of  the  branch,  with  its  top  down- 
ward, is  contrary  to  the  ascending  movement  of  the 
sap,  which  consequently  flows  less  freely  to  the  buds. 
The  resulting  dearth  is  conducive  to  fruit-bearing, 


MAKING  FRUIT  TREES  BEAR  127 

and  as  soon  as  this  effect  is  assured  the  branches 
are  allowed  to  return  to  their  natural  position; 
otherwise  the  tree  would  become  exhausted. 

"Another  method  is  as  follows.  Pruning  is  done 
very  late,  when  the  young  shoots  are  already  some 
centimeters  long.  The  sap  used  up  in  the  growth  of 
the  shoots  cut  off  by  the  pruning  shears  is  a  great 
loss  to  the  tree,  which,  being  no  longer  able  to  supply 
ample  nourishment  to  the  lower  buds  of  the  branches, 
turns  them  into  flower-buds. 

"If  these  means  do  not  suffice  to  make  the  tree 
bear  fruit,  there  are  more  violent  ones  which  are 
employed  only  in  the  last  extremity.  Toward  the 
end  of  winter,  before  the  sap  has  started,  an  incision 
some  millimeters  wide  and  deep  enough  to  penetrate 
the  outer  layers  of  wood  is  made  all  around  the 
base  of  the  trunk.  Sap,  as  we  know,  ascends 
through  these  exterior  layers,  the  newest,  the  most 
permeable  by  liquids;  so  if  we  partially  intercept 
its  passage  it  will  flow  less  abundantly  to  the  buds 
and  the  weakened  tree  will  soon  begin  to  bear.' 

"Still  another  expedient  is  to  strike  at  the  very 
source  of  the  sap,  the  roots.  The  foot  of  the  tree 
is  laid  bare  in  the  springtime,  its  main  roots  being 
denuded  of  their  covering  and  left  thus  exposed  all 
summer  to  the  open  air  and  the  hot  sun.  No  longer 
enjoying  the  coolness  and  darkness  necessary  to 
their  office,  they  furnish  less  nourishment  to  the  tree, 
and  this  scarcity  causes  the  formation  of  flower- 
buds.  A  still  more  drastic  method,  but  one  that 
would  kill  the  tree  if  employed  imprudently,  is.  to 


128  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

strip  the  roots  of  the  refractory  subject  without 
mercy,  cutting  and  mutilating  a  certain  number  of 
them  and  then  putting  back  the  earth  that  has  been 
removed.  A  diminution  in  the  flow  of  sap  must 
necessarily  result  from  this  surgical  operation.  Fi- 
nally, if  the  tree  is  small  enough  for  the  purpose,  it 
is  dug  up  at  the  end  of  autumn,  with  care  to  pre- 
serve the  roots  as  far  as  possible,  and  planted  again 
somewhere  else.  The  disturbance  caused  by  this 
change  of  place  suffices  to  make  the  tree  blossom  the 
next  year." 


CHAPTEE  XXVII 

THE   SEED 

THE  ovary  of  the  flower,  after  being  fertilized 
by  the  pollen,  becomes  the  fruit,  the  apple  on 
the  apple-tree,  the  cherry  on  the  cherry-tree,  the 
walnut  on  the  walnut-tree,  the  grain  of  wheat  in  the 
wheat-ear,  and  so  on  for  all  plants.  The  fruit  con- 
tains seeds  in  greater  or  less  number,  and  some- 
times only  one,  as  in  the  peach,  plum,  and  almond; 
often  several,  as  in  the  apple  and  pear ;  while  in  other 
instances  they  can  be  counted  by  hundreds  and 
thousands,  as  in  the  melon,  the  pumpkin,  and  the 
poppy-head.  The  natural  function  of  the  fruit  is 
first  to  supply  nourishment  and  then  to  protect  its 
seeds  by  means  of  coverings,  these  being  sometimes 
fleshy,  sometimes  thin  and  dry,  sometimes  hard  and 
in  the  form  of  strong  shells.  In  their  turn  the  seeds 
have  as  their  task  the  propagating  of  the  species. 
Every  form  of  plant-life,  from  the  giants  of  the 
forest,  the  oak,  beech,  fir,  and  others,  to  the  tiniest 
moss,  has  its  beginning  in  the  seed.  Every  plant 
has  its  flowers,  its  fruit,  and  its  seeds.  It  is  in  the 
seed  that  vegetation  is  preserved  in  a  thriving  con- 
dition through  the  ages ;  it  is  by  the  seed  that  every 
tree,  every  shrub,  every  blade  of  grass  propagate 
their  kind  and  leave  a  numerous  progeny. 

129 


130  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

"Who  would  not  like  to  know,"  continued  Uncle 
Paul,  "something  about  the  formation  of  the  seed 
that  is  sown  in  the  ground  to  become  either  a  little 
plant  or  an  enormous  tree?  What  is  inside  it! 
How  can  an  oak  come  from  an  acorn  and  a  pear-tree 
from  the  pip  of  a  pear?  I  will  try,  my  friends,  to 
satisfy  the  very  natural  curiosity  such  a  mystery 
cannot  fail  to  arouse  in  you. 

"Let  us  look  at  the  fruit  of  an  almond-tree.  First 
it  has  an  outside  skin,  green  and  tender,  which  at 
maturity  opens  of  its  own  accord,  dries  up,  folds 
back,  and  lets  its  contents  out.  Examining  the  lat- 
ter, we  find  a  shell,  sometimes  fragile  enough  to  be 
broken  with  the  teeth,  but  at  other  times  very  hard 
and  yielding  only  to  the  hammer.  Breaking  the 
shell,  we  come  to  the  seed.  Of  what  use  are  the  two 
parts  we  have  just  removed?  We  must  be  very 
stupid  if  we  cannot  recognize  in  them  the  coverings 
intended  to  protect  the  seed,  the  wrappings  that 
shelter  the  delicate  germ  from  cold,  heat,  rain,  and 
the  teeth  of  animals.  The  outer  envelope,  covered 
with  a  short,  velvety  down,  serves  as  a  protection 
against  the  weather;  the  inner  one  is  a  veritable 
strong-box  which  we  have  to  break  between  two 
stones  before  we  can  get  at  its  contents.  Similar 
means  of  defense  are  found  in  all  fruit,  but  with 
wide  differences  in  the  different  kinds  of  plants. 
The  cherry,  plum,  peach,  and  apricot  have  the  hard 
shell,  the  strong-box,  of  the  almond,  and  also  an 
outer  envelope  of  juicy  flesh.  The  apple  and  pear 
have  their  seeds  or  pips,  as  they  are  called,  snugly 


THE  SEED  131 

ensconced  in  five  little  cavities  grouped  in  the  shape 
of  a  five-pointed  star,  as  may  be  seen  in  a  cross-sec- 
tion of  the  fruit.  These  little  cavities  have  walls 
of  a  tough,  scaly  material  somewhat  resembling 
horn,  while  all  about  them  is  a  thick  rampart  of 
flesh.  Beans  and  peas  are  arranged  in  a  sort  of 
long  sheath  that  opens  in  two  pieces.  Chestnuts  are 
packed  in  a  bag  covered  with  long  prickles.  All 
these  protecting  coverings,  whatever  their  shape  and 
character  and  degree  of  toughness,  form  part  of  the 
fruit. 

"Let  us  go  back  to  the  almond.  The  shell  being 
broken,  we  come  to  the  seed,  which  is  all  in  one  piece. 
This  seed,  as  we  have  just  seen,  is  protected  by  two 
coverings,  the  inner  one  of  which  is  a  very  firm,  hard 
casing  called  the  stone.  As  a  protection  is  it 
enough?  Not  quite.  Beneath  the  exterior  defen- 
sive armor  comes  the  fine  inner  covering  that  wraps 
the  seed  closely  and  shields  it  from  contact  with  the 
hard  shell.  This  covering  is  double  and  is  com- 
posed on  the  outside  of  a  reddish  skin  and  inside  of 
an  extremely  thin  and  flexible  white  cuticle.  Sim- 
ilar double  clothing  is  found  on  all  seeds.  The  inner 
one  is  always  very  fine,  as  indeed  it  should  be,  since 
it  comes  next  to  the  most  essential  and  delicate  part 
of  the  seed.  Do  we  put  coarse  cloth,  rough  woolen 
stuff  next  to  the  tender  flesh  of  a  new-born  babe? 
Certainly  not ;  but  rather  the  finest  of  linen,  and  over 
that  the  woolen  fabric.  The  plant  does  the  same 
with  its  tender  young  seeds.  The  outer  envelope, 
much  firmer  and  tougher  than  the  inner,  looks  very 


132  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

differently  in  different  plants.  In  the  almond  and 
walnut  it  is  a  reddish  skin,  and  so  it  is  also  in  the 
stones  of  the  peach,  apricot,  and  plum.  In  the  pips 
of  the  pear  and  apple  it  is  a  tough  brown  casing.  In 
beans  it  is  smooth  and  shiny,  sometimes  quite  white, 
sometimes  black  and  white,  sometimes  speckled  with 
red  spots.  In  addition,  peas  and  beans  of  all  kinds 
have  at  one  point  on  their  surface  a  sort  of  little  oval 
eye.  To  this  eye  was  once  attached  a  small  short 
cord  that  fastened  the  seed  to  the  wall  of  the  pod 
and  served  as  a  pipe  for  supplying  it  with  nourish- 
ment. All  seeds  have  this  attachment,  or  nursing- 
cord,  as  we  may  call  it,  but  not  all  have  so  clearly 
marked  as  in  the  bean  the  eye  where  the  cord  is 
fastened. 

"  After  the  two  coverings  of  the  seed  have  been 
removed,  which  is  very  easily  done  when  the  almond 
is  new,  there  remains  a  white  object,  firm  and  savory, 
the  eatable  part  of  the  fruit  of  the  almond-tree. 
That  object  is  the  seed  proper;  that  is  to  say,  the 
part  that  would  have  become  a  tree  if  planted  in  the 
ground.  It  is  round  at  one  end  and  rather  pointed 
at  the  other.  From  the  pointed  end  projects  a  little 
nipple,  and  all  around  the  edge  runs  a  slight  furrow 
indicating  that  here  the  seed  may  be  split  in  two. 
Let  us  insert  the  point  of  a  knife  into  this  furrow 
and  exert  a  little  pressure.  One  half  will  come  away 
and  the  other  half  will  show  us  what  you  see  in  this 
picture. 

"The  little  pointed  nipple  (r)  is  called  a  radicle. 
It  is  the  part  that,  if  allowed  to  grow,  would  push 


THE  SEED 


133 


down  into  the  earth,  send  out  branches  there,  and 
become  the  root.  At  the  point  marked  g  is  a  com- 
pact bunch  of  tiny  leaves,  all  white, 
forming  a  kind  of  bud,  but  one  that  is 
much  feebler  and  more  delicate  than 
buds  that  grow  on  branches.  It  is 
called  a  gemmule.  This  bud  will  un- 
fold and  send  forth  the  first  leaves. 
Finally,  the  narrow  line  of  demarca- 
tion between  the  radicle  and  the  gem-  Embryo  of 
mule  is  called  the  tigella,  and  from  it 
the  trunk  of  the  tree  will  take  its  start.  Such  is  the 
almond-tree  in  its  seed.  The  large  tree  that  will 
send  out  a  mass  of  branches  and  foliage  into  the  air 
and  thrust  powerful  roots  into  the  ground  is  now 
contained  in  an  insignificant  corpuscle  just  large 
enough  to  be  seen. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  SEED'S  FOOD-SUPPLY 

WHEN  it  has  leaves  and  roots  that  are  suffi- 
ciently developed,  the  little  almond-tree  will 
nourish  itself  by  drawing  what  it  needs  from  the 
earth  and  air.  But  until  then  it  must  live,  it  must 
grow  stronger,  and  it  must  increase  a  little  in  size. 
As  nothing  can  come  from  nothing,  the  germinating 
seed  must  find  somewhere  the  material  for  its  first 
growth.  This  cannot  be  in  the  soil  so  long  as  the 
radicle  is  nothing  but  a  point,  incapable  of  any  work ; 
neither  can  it  be  in  the  air  so  long  as  the  little  leaf- 
bud  has  not  unfolded  and  developed  into  foliage. 
The  seed,  then,  must  have  a  certain  supply  of  nu- 
triment stored  up  within  itself.  Let  us  turn  our 
attention  to  this  prepared  stock  of  food. 

"In  the  almond  we  have  studied  the  gemmule  or 
leaf -bud,  the  radicle,  and  the  tigella;  but  there  still 
remain  two  large  pieces,  easily  separable  from  each 
other,  and  constituting  by  themselves  alone  almost 
the  entire  bulk  of  the  seed.  These  two  pieces  are 
the  plant's  first  pair  of  leaves,  but  leaves  of  a  pe- 
culiar structure,  being  very  thick,  fleshy,  and  rela- 
tively enormous  in  size.  They  are  the  alimentary 
reservoirs,  the  storehouses  of  food  from  which  in 
its  beginning  the  young  plant  must  draw  its  susten- 

134 


THE  SEED'S  FOOD-SUPPLY  135 

ance.  When  germination  begins,  these  two  large 
leaves,  swollen  with  nutritive  matter,  yield  little  by 
little  a  part  of  their  substance  to  the  tiny  plant  and 
suckle  it,  as  it  were.  They  might  therefore  be  called 
vegetable  udders,  nursing-leaves,  but  science  calls 
them  cotyledons.  The  unhatched  chick  in  its  shell 
has  the  yolk  of  the  egg  to  furnish  substance  for  its 
growth,  the  young  lamb  has  its  mother's  milk,  the 
germ  of  the  plant  has  the  juice  of  the  cotyledons. 

* '  The  same  structure,  with  two  cotyledons  of  great 
size  and  easy  to  observe,  may  be  found  in  the  broad 
bean,  pea,  kidney  bean,  and  acorn,  and  in  the  stones 
of  the  peach,  apricot,  and  plum.  It  would  also  be 
found  in  the  pips  of  pears  and  apples  as  well  as  in 
the  seeds  of  most  of  our  cultivated  plants,  but  more 
difficult  to  distinguish  in  proportion  to  the  small- 
ness  of  the  seed.  In  every  instance  the  seed  would 
be  found  to  have  two  cotyledons  as  food-storehouses, 
and  also  a  gemmule  and  a  radicle  united  by  the  ti- 
gella.  Other  plants,  on  the  contrary,  like  maize, 
wheat,  and  the  other  cereals,  as  also  the  lily,  tulip, 
and  iris,  have  but  one  cotyledon,  one  nursing-leaf 
for  the  new  vegetable  organism. 

"It  is  not  always  easy,  especially  when  the  seed 
is  very  small,  to  ascertain  whether  it  has  two  coty- 
ledons or  only  one;  but  as  soon  as  germination  has 
begun,  this  difficulty  disappears.  Then  the  seed 
with  two  cotyledons  is  seen  to  push  up  two  leaves, 
the  very  first  to  appear,  situated  opposite  each  other, 
and  very  often  differing  in  shape  from  those  that 
come  later.  In  the  radish,  for  example,  they  are 


136  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

heart-shaped;  in  the  carrot,  long  and  narrow  like 
little  tongues.  These  two  leaves  that  precede  the 
others  are  known  as  seminal  leaves.  They  come 
from  the  two  cotyledons,  which  generally  open  in  the 
air  and  grow  green  while  nourishing  the  young  plant 
with  a  part  of  their  substance ;  but  sometimes,  as  in 
the  acorn,  they  remain  hidden  underground.  On  the 
other  hand,  seeds  having  but  one  cotyledon  come  up 
with  only  one  seminal  leaf,  generally  narrow  and 
long.  This  is  what  we  observe  if  we  watch  the  ger- 
mination of  a  grain  of  wheat. 

"A  simpler  and  quicker  method  may  be  used  for 
ascertaining  how  many  cotyledons  a  seed  has.  Hold 
a  leaf  up  to  the  light  and  you  will  see  its  texture 
traversed  by  a  multitude  of  little  cords  which  serve 
it  as  a  kind  of  framework.  These  cords  are  called 
veins  or  nerves.  Now  then,  if  you  compare  the  leaf 
of  a  pear-tree  with  a  blade  of  wheat,  or  reed,  you 
will  see  that  in  the  former  the  veins  are  more  and 
more  subdivided  and  ramified,  joining  one  another 
and  thus  forming  a  network  with  irregular  meshes, 
while  in  the  latter  the  veins  do  not  branch,  but  run 
in  parallel  lines  without  forming  meshes.  We 
should  find  the  same  difference  of  framework  be- 
tween the  leaves  of  the  elm,  poplar,  and  plane-tree, 
on  the  one  hand,  and  those  of  the  iris,  narcissus,  and 
tulip,  on  the  other.  This  difference  being  estab- 
lished, I  will  add  that  with  few  exceptions,  of  no 
interest  to  us  here,  every  plant  with  netted-veined 
leaves  has  two  cotyledons  in  its  seed,  and  that  every 
plant  with  parallel-veined  leaves  has  but  one.  Con- 


THE  SEED'S  FOOD-SUPPLY  137 

sequently  it  is  only  necessary  to  glance  at  the  foliage 
in  order  to  know  whether  the  seed  has  two  cotyledons 
or  only  one.  I  will  say  further  that  pines,  firs,  and 
the  other  resinous  trees  have  as  many  as  ten  cotyle- 
dons, which  show  themselves  as  a  delicate  tuft  of 
leaves  when  the  little  plant  comes  out  of  the  ground." 

Uncle  Paul  then  led  the  children  into  the  garden 
to  fix  in  their  minds  by  observation  the  lesson  they 
had  just  learned.  " Gather  haphazard,"  said  he, 
"the  first  leaves  you  come  to;  then  examine  them  and 
tell  me  how  many  cotyledons  the  seed  must  contain. 
First,  here  is  the  iris,  with  large  blue  flowers  and 
sword-shaped  leaves." 

"I  see,"  said  Jules,  "veins  running  in  regular 
lines  side  by  side,  without  ever  joining  one  another. 
Since  these  veins  are  parallel  the  iris  seed  has  only 
one  cotyledon." 

"And  this  blade  of  grass,  this  also  that  I  pick  from 
a  corn-stalk?"  asked  his  uncle. 

1 '  They,  too,  have  parallel  veins,  both  of  them ;  and 
so  their  seeds  must  have  only  one  cotyledon." 

"And  this  grape-leaf,  this  leaf  of  the  cherry  tree?" 

"It's  my  turn  now,"  Emile  hastened  to  interpose. 
' '  The  veins  form  a  sort  of  lace  with  very  fine  meshes. 
The  grape  and  the  cherry  have  two  cotyledons." 

"It  is  as  easy  as  that,  my  friends.  The  leaf  with 
its  arrangement  of  veins  shows  us  the  fundamental 
characteristics  of  the  plant.  It  tells  us  whether  the 
germ  is  fed  by  one  nursing-leaf  or  two,  whether  the 
young  plant  comes  up  with  one  seminal  leaf  or  two." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

GERMINATION 

'  fTlHE  germ  in  the  heart  of  the  seed  is  in  a  state 
A  that  may  be  likened  to  deep  sleep :  its  life  is,  as 
it  were,  arrested,  suspended.  But  under  the  stim- 
ulus of  certain  conditions  it  awakens,  throws  off  its 
coverings,  gathers  strength  from  its  stored-up  food, 
unfolds  its  first  leaves,  and  appears  above  ground. 
This  opening  of  the  seed  is  called  germination. 
Moisture,  warmth,  and  air  are  the  determining 
causes;  without  their  cooperation  the  seed  would 
remain  a  certain  length  of  time  in  good  condition  for 
sowing,  after  which  it  would  wither  and  lose  its 
germinating  power. 

"No  seed  germinates  without  the  help  of  moisture. 
Water  plays  a  multiple  part.  First  it  soaks  into  the 
germ  and  the  parts  surrounding  it,  causing  these  to 
swell  more  than  the  envelope,  so  that  the  latter,  how- 
ever hard  a  shell  it  may  be,  is  burst  open.  Through 
the  cracks  of  this  broken  envelope  the  gemmule 
pushes  out  on  one  side  and  the  radicle  on  the  other, 
and  henceforth  the  little  plant  enjoys  the  benefit  of 
sun  and  air.  Germination  is  more  or  less  slow  ac- 
cording to  the  degree  of  resistance  offered  by  the 
walls  of  the  seed.  If  these  are  hard  and  stony  it  is 
only  with  extreme  slowness  that  the  germ  absorbs 

138 


GERMINATION  139 

moisture  and  manages  to  burst  its  cell.  Therefore, 
to  shorten  the  period  of  germination  care  is  taken  to 
thin  the  shells  of  excessively  hard  seeds  by  rubbing 
them  with  a  stone. 

''Besides  the  mechanical  part  played  by  water  in 
opening  the  seed,  it  has  still  another  relating  to  nu- 
trition. The  various  changes  undergone  by  the  ali- 
mentary contents  of  the  perisperm  and  the  cotyle- 
dons in  becoming  liquefied  and  capable  of  absorption 
cannot  take  place  without  the  aid  of  water.  Fur- 
thermore, this  liquid  is  indispensable  for  dissolving 
the  nutritive  ingredients,  introducing  them  into  the 
young  plant,  and  distributing  them  evenly  through- 
out. It  is  plain,  then,  that  if  the  seed  remains  dry 
it  is  absolutely  impossible  for  it  to  germinate,  and 
that  in  order  to  preserve  seeds  the  first  condition  is 
to  protect  them  from  moisture. 

"With  moisture  there  must  also  be  warmth.  As  a 
general  rule,  germination  proceeds  most  satisfac- 
torily when  the  thermometer  registers  between  ten 
and  twenty  degrees  centigrade,  our  spring  and  au- 
tumn temperature.  Outside  these  limits,  be  it  above 
or  below,  germination  is  retarded,  ceasing  altogether 
in  extreme  temperatures. 

"The  cooperation  of  air  is  not  less  necessary. 
Seeds  might  have  the  proper  temperature  and  suf- 
ficient moisture,  but  if  air  were  lacking  germination 
would  not  follow.  This  capital  condition  explains 
to  us  why  seeds  planted  too  deep  fail  to  come,  up ; 
why  germination  is  much  easier  in  soil  that  is  mellow 
and  can  be  permeated  by  the  air  than  in  soil  that  is 


140  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

compact ;  why  delicate  seeds  should  be  covered  with 
very  little  earth  or  even  simply  sown  on  the  surface 
of  the  moist  ground;  and,  finally,  why  ground  on 
being  broken  often  becomes  covered  with  fresh  veg- 
etation from  the  sprouting  of  seeds  that  have  for 
years  lain  dormant  in  the  soil,  needing  only  to  be 
stirred  up  and  brought  into  contact  with  the  air  in 
order  to  germinate. 

"Under  like  conditions  of  temperature,  moisture, 
and  air,  by  no  means  all  seeds  require  the  same 
length  of  time  for  germinating.  Common  garden 
cress  germinates  in  about  two  days.  Spinach,  tur- 
nips, and  beans  take  three  days  to  come  up ;  lettuce, 
four;  melons  and  pumpkins,  five;  cereals,  about  a 
week.  Two  years  and  sometimes  more  are  needed 
by  the  rose-bush,  the  hawthorn,  and  various  stone- 
fruit  trees.  Generally  seeds  with  thick  and  hard 
shells  are  slow  in  germinating  on  account  of  the  ob- 
stacle they  oppose  to  the  penetration  of  moisture. 
Finally,  when  sown  fresh,  immediately  after  coming 
to  maturity,  seeds  germinate  quicker  than  when  old, 
because  old  seeds  have  to  recover  by  a  prolonged  so- 
journ in  the  ground  the  moisture  lost  through  pro- 
longed drying. 

"According  to  their  kind,  seeds  retain  for  a  longer 
or  shorter  period  their  power  of  germinating ;  but 
why  this  vitality  is  more  enduring  in  one  instance 
and  less  so  in  another,  we  cannot  tell.  Neither  the 
bulk  of  the  seed  nor  the  character  of  its  outside  cov- 
erings, nor  the  presence  or  absence  of  a  perisperm, 
appears  to  decide  its  longevity.  Such  and  such  a 


GERMINATION  141 

seed  lives  for  whole  years,  even  centuries,  while  an- 
other loses  its  germinating  power  in  a  few  months, 
from  no  cause  that  we  can  discover.  Thus  the  seeds 
of  the  angelica  will  not  come  up  unless  they  are 
sown  immediately  after  maturing;  but  beans  have 
been  known  to  germinate  after  being  kept  more  than 
a  hundred  years,  and  rye  after  a  hundred  and  forty. 
Excluded  from  the  air,  certain  seeds  may  be  kept 
for  centuries,  always  ready  to  germinate  whenever 
favorable  conditions  shall  present  themselves.  This 
explains  why  strawberry,  bluet,  and  camomile  seeds 
from  ancient  tombs  have  germinated  just  as  new 
seeds  would  have  done.  Finally,  rush  seeds  have 
been  made  to  germinate  that  were  dug  up  from  great 
depths  in  the  Island  of  the  Seine,  the  original  site 
of  Paris.  Doubtless  those  seeds  dated  from  the  time 
when  Paris,  under  the  name  of  Lutetia,  consisted  of 
a  few  mud  and  reed  huts  on  the  marshy  borders  of 
the  stream.  But  despite  these  remarkable  excep- 
tions let  us  never  forget  that  recent  seed  is  prefer- 
able to  old  for  sowing;  it  comes  up  better  and  in 
greater  abundance. 

"We  have  just  seen  that  certain  seeds  are  very 
slow  in  coming  up,  as  for  example  the  peach,  apricot, 
and  plum,  whose  thick  shells  resist  the  moisture  re- 
quired for  germination.  Put  directly  into  the 
ground  in  the  very  places  that  the  young  plants  are 
to  occupy  later,  these  seeds  would  be  exposed  to  not 
a  few  dangers  during  their  leisurely  germination. 
Prolonged  rains  might  make  them  rot;  various  ma- 
rauders that  are  partial  to  them,  such  as  rats,  field- 


142  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

mice,  jays,  magpies,  and  crows,  might  dig  them  up 
and  devour  them.  Besides,  they  would  occupy  for 
a  long  time,  with  no  profit  to  any  one,  the  ground  in 
which  they  had  been  planted.  All  these  objections 
are  avoided  by  making  a  preliminary  planting  after 
a  method  known  as  stratification,  from  the  Latin 
word  stratum,  meaning  bed  or  layer.  In  a  large, 
deep  earthen  pan,  with  holes  in  its  bottom,  or  in  any 
other  suitable  receptacle,  such  as  a  box,  a  pot,  or  a 
tub,  likewise  pierced  with  holes,  it  is  the  practice  to 
place  first  a  layer  of  small  pebbles.  The  holes  at 
the  bottom  and  this  layer  of  pebbles  are  to  give  easy 
access  to  the  air  and  drain  off  the  excess  of  water 
after  each  irrigation.  Next  comes  a  bed  of  fine 
sandy  soil,  then  a  layer  or  stratum  of  seeds  arranged 
side  by  side,  and  on  top  of  that  a  second  bed  of  earth. 
On  this  is  placed  another  stratum  of  seeds,  which  in 
its  turn  is  covered  with  earth;  and  so  the  process 
goes  on  with  alternating  layers  of  seeds  and  earth 
until  the  receptacle  is  full.  Then  it  is  watered  and 
placed  in  a  cellar  or  a  dark  shed.  All  that  is  neces- 
sary after  this  is  to  keep  the  contents  of  pan  or  tub 
sufficiently  moist  by  an  occasional  sprinkling.  En- 
closed thus  in  a  small  space  easy  to  watch  over,  with 
no  danger  from  marauding  animals,  and  without 
needlessly  occupying  ground  that  might  be  used  for 
other  purposes,  the  seeds  can  now  take  their  own 
time  to  break  their  hard  shells  and  can  germinate 
with  all  the  slowness  natural  to  them. 

"When  the  shells  at  last  crack  open  and  the  radicle 
appears,  it  is  time  to  proceed  to  the  final  planting. 


GERMINATION  143 

The  half-germinated  seeds  are  then  put  into  the 
ground  one  by  one  in  an  open  field,  each  at  the  exact 
spot  the  young  plant  is  to  occupy. 

"  Stratification  offers  still  another  advantage. 
Fruit  trees  as  well  as  other  trees  have  a  stout  tap- 
root which  bores  vertically  into  the  ground  to  a  con- 
siderable depth  and  gives  a  good  deal  of  trouble  if 
transplanting  is  undertaken.  To  alter  this  tap-root 
into  a  root  not  growing  so  deep,  but  branching  hori- 
zontally, would  be  decidedly  advantageous.  In 
speaking  of  the  root  we  saw  what  the  nursery-man 
does  to  obtain  this  result.  He  passes  the  sharp  edge 
of  his  spade  under  the  base  of  each  tree-trunk  so  as 
to  sever  the  tap-roots  of  his  young  plantations.  In 
stratification  the  method  is  much  simpler  and  suc- 
cess surer.  With  his  thumb-nail  the  gardener  nips 
off  the  tip  of  the  tender  radicle  before  the  final  plant- 
ing is  done.  That  is  all.  Deprived  of  its  growing 
end  the  young  root  henceforth  branches  out  hori- 
zontally instead  of  descending  vertically." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE  BLOSSOM 

T  TERE  is  the  fennel-flower,  which,  with  the  corn- 
J.  J.  flower  and  the  poppy,  is  so  common  in  our 
fields  of  grain.  It  is  purplish  red,  while  the  poppy 
is  scarlet  and  the  corn-flower,  or  bluet,  is  of  an  azure 
like  that  of  the  sky,  as  its  alternative  name  indicates. 
On  the  outside  of  the  fennel-flower  are  five  green, 
firm  pieces  joined  together  at  the  bottom  but  ter- 
minating in  long  points  at  the  top.  Each  of  these 
pieces  is  called  a  sepal,  and  the  five  together  form 
the  calyx.  Inside  are  five  other  pieces,  thin,  fine, 
broad,  purplish  red  in  color.  Each  one  bears  the 
name  of  petal,  and  collectively  they  form  the  corolla. 

"Most  flowers  have  two  envelopes  like  these,  one 
within  the  other.  The  outer  one,  or  calyx,  is  nearly 
always  green  in  color  and  firm  in  structure ;  the  inner 
one,  or  corolla,  much  more  delicate  in  texture,  is 
tinged  with  those  magnificent  hues  that  please  the 
eye  so  much  in  flowers. 

"The  sepals  of  the  calyx  and  the  petals  of  the  co- 
rolla are  sometimes  separated  from  one  another  and 
sometimes  joined  together.  In  the  fennel-flower  the 
sepals  are  united  below  in  a  common  sheath  bristling 
with  coarse  hairs ;  but  in  their  upper  part  they  are 

144 


THE  BLOSSOM  145 

separated  into  five  narrow  and  pointed  strips.  The 
corolla  we  find  to  be  composed  of  five  pieces,  five 
petals  distinct  from  one 
another.  On  the  contrary, 
in  the  blossom  of  the  cam- 
panula the  five  petals  of 
the  corolla  are  joined  at 
the  edges  and  form  a 
beautiful  blue  bell  which 
looks  as  if  made  of  one 
piece.  The  five  large 
teeth  that  border  the  open- 
ing of  the  bell  nevertheless 
show  that  the  corolla  is 
really  composed  of  five 
petals,  of  which  these 
teeth  are  the  termination. 
"The  calyx  and  the  co- 

Fennel  Flower 

rolla  are  the  flower's  cloth- 
ing, a  double  clothing  having  both  the  substantial 
material  that  protects  from  cold  and  storm,  and  the 
fine  fabric  that  charms  the  eye.  The  calyx,  the  outer 
garment,  is  of  simple  form,  green  in  color,  and  of 
firm  texture  suitable  for  withstanding  bad  weather. 
It  has  to  protect  the  still  unopened  flower,  to  shield 
it  from  the  sun,  from  cold  and  wet.  Examine  a  rose- 
bud and  note  with  what  delicate  precision  the  five 
sepals  of  the  calyx  are  united  so  as  to  cover  the  rest. 
Not  the  slightest  drop  of  water  could  penetrate  the 
interior,  so  carefully  are  their  edges  joined  together. 
There  are  flowers  that  close  their  calyx  every  even- 


146  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

ing  and  snuggle  down  inside  to  keep  from  getting 
chilled. 

"The  corolla  or  inner  garment  unites  elegance  of 
form  and  richness  of  tint  with  fineness  of  texture. 
It  is  the  flower's  finery  and  is  what  especially  cap- 
tivates our  eye,  so  that  we  commonly  consider  it  the 
most  important  part  of  the  blossom,  whereas  it  is 
really  nothing  but  an  ornament. 

"Of  the  two  garments,  the  calyx  is  the  more  neces- 
sary. Many  flowers  have  no  corolla,  but  they  always 
have  at  least  a  calyx,  which  in  its  simplest  form  is 
reduced  to  a  tiny  leaflet  shaped  like  a  scale. 
Flowers  with  no  corolla  remain  unnoticed,  and  the 
plants  that  bear  them  seem  to  us  to  have  no  blos- 
soms. It  is  a  mistake:  all  trees  and  plants  bloom, 
even  the  oak,  willow,  poplar,  pine,  beech,  wheat,  and 
multitudes  of  others  whose  blossoming  is  unheeded 
by  the  inattentive  eye.  Their  flowers  are  extremely 
numerous,  but  as  they  are  very  small  and  have  no 
bright-colored  corolla  they  escape  any  but  the  closest 
scrutiny. 

"It  would  be  knowing  a  person  very  little  only  to 
be  able  to  say  that  he  wears  such  and  such  a  coat; 
nor  does  one  know  a  flower  any  better  when  one  can 
merely  say  that  it  is  clothed  with  a  calyx  and  a 
corolla.  What  is  there  under  this  clothing? 

"Let  us  examine  together  a  lily,  which  by  its  size 
lends  itself  readily  to  study.  It  has  no  calyx,1  but 

i  This  is  inconsistent  with  what  Uncle  Paul  stated  two  paragraphs 
above.  He  should  have  said  here  that  the  lily  has  but  one  floral 
envelope.— Translator. 


THE  BLOSSOM  147 

it  does  have  a  superb  corolla  formed  of  six  petals 
gracefully  curved  inward  at  the  edges,  and  whiter 
than  ivory.  I  take  away  these  six  petals.  What  is 
left  now  is  the  essential  part ;  that  is  to  say,  the  thing 
without  which  the  flower  could  not  perform  its  func- 
tion, could  not,  in  short,  bear  fruit  or  seed.  Let  us 
carefully  consider  this  remaining  part.  You  will 
find  it  well  worth  the  trouble. 

"First  there  are  six  filaments  or  little  white  rods, 
each  one  surmounted  by  a  tiny  bag  full  of  yellow 
powder.  These  six  pieces  are  called  stamens.  They 
are  found  in  all  flowers  in  greater  or  less  number, 
and  in  the  lily  there  are  six  of  them.  The  little  bag 
that  tops  the  stamen  is  called  an  anther.  The  yellow 
dust  contained  in  the  anther  is  called  pollen ;  that  is 
what  daubs  our  nose  when  we  smell  the  lily  too 
closely. 

1  'I  take  away  the  six  stamens.  There  remains  a 
central  body  swollen  at  the  bottom,  narrowed  at  the 
top  to  a  long  filament,  and  surmounted  by  a  kind  of 
head  wet  with  a  sticky  moisture.  In  its  entirety  this 
central  body  bears  the  name  of  pistil;  the  swelling 
at  the  bottom  is  called  the  ovary,  the  filament  grow- 
ing out  of  it  is  the  style,  and  the  sticky  head  termin- 
ating this  filament  is  known  as  the  stigma. 

"What  big  names  for  such  little  things!  you  will 
say.  Little,  yes;  but  of  unrivaled  importance. 
These  little  things,  my  friends,  give  us  our  daily 
bread;  without  the  miraculous  work  of  these  little 
things  the  world  would  come  to  an  end. 

"With  a  penknife  I  cut  the  ovary  in  two  horizon- 


148  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

tally.  In  three  compartments  grouped  in  a  circle  we 
see  some  tiny  grains  arranged  so  that  each  compart- 
ment has  two  rows  of  them.  They  are  the  future 
seeds  of  the  plant.  The  ovary,  then,  is  the  part  of 
the  plant  where  the  seeds  are  formed.  After  a  cer- 
tain time  the  flower  withers,  the  petals  wilt  and  fall, 
the  calyx  does  the  same,  or  sometimes  it  remains  to 
play  the  part  of  protector  a  while  longer,  the  dried 
stamens  break  off,  and  only  the  ovary  remains,  grow- 
ing larger,  ripening,  and  finally  becoming  the  fruit 
that  contains  the  seeds. 

"Every  sort  of  fruit — the  pear,  apple,  apricot, 
peach,  walnut,  cherry,  melon,  grape,  almond,  chest- 
nut— began  by  being  a  little  swelling  of  the  pistil; 
all  those  excellent  things  that  the  tree  and  plant  give 
us  for  food  were  first  ovaries." 
"Then  a  big  juicy  pear  began  by  being* the  ovary 
of  a  pear*  blossom?"  queried 
Emile. 

"Yes,  my  friend,"  was  the  re- 
ply; "pears,  apples,  cherries, 
apricots,  even  big  melons  and 
enormous  pumpkins  begin  by 

Apricot  Blossom  Cut  Open     ^^   the  1Ittle   OVarieS    °f    tlieir 

respective  flowers.  I  will  show 
you  an  apricot  in  its  blossom." 

Uncle  Paul  took  an  apricot  blossom,  opened  it 
with  his  penknife,  and  showed  his  listeners  what  is 
here  reproduced  in  the  picture. 

"In  the  heart  of  the  flower,"  he  explained,  "you 
see  the  pistil  surrounded  by  numerous  stamens. 


THE  BLOSSOM  149 

The  head  at  the  top  of  it  is  the  stigma ;  the  swelling 
at  the  bottom  is  the  ovary  or  future  apricot." 

' '  That  little  green  thing, ' '  Emile  exclaimed  incred- 
ulously, "would  have  turned  into  a  plump,  juicy  ap- 
ricot such  as  I  am  so  fond  of?'* 

"Yes,"  affirmed  his  uncle,  "that  little  green  thing 
would  have  turned  into  an  apricot  such  as  Emile  is 
so  fond  of.  A  similar  little  green  thing  would  have 
turned  into  a  big  juicy  pear,  into  a  fragrant  apple, 
or  into  a  huge  pumpkin,  so  heavy  that  it  rests  lazily 
on  its  stomach.  To  conclude,  I  will  show  you  the 
ovary  from  which  come  wheat  and  consequently 
bread." 

Uncle  Paul  took  a  needle ;  then  with  the  skill  and 
patience  necessary  for  this  operation  he  isolated  one 
of  the  numerous  flowers  that  collectively  make  up  the 
ear  of  wheat.  The  delicate  little  flower  displayed 
clearly,  on  the  point  of  the  needle,  the  different  parts 
composing  it. 

"The  blessed  plant  that  gives  us  bread,"  con- 
tinued Uncle  Paul,  "has  very  modest  flowers.  Two 
poor  scales  serve  it  for  calyx  and  corolla.  You  can 
easily  recognize  three  hanging  stamens  with  their 
double-sacheted  anthers  full  of  pollen.  The  main 
body  of  the  flower  is  the  plump  ovary  which,  when 
ripe,  will  be  a  grain  of  wheat.  It  is  surmounted  by 
the  stigma,  which  has  the  shape  of  an  elegant  double 
plume.  Such  is  the  modest  little  flower  that  fur- 
nishes us  all  with  the  staff  of  life." 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

POLLEN 

TN  a  few  days,  even  in  a  few  hours,  a  flower  withers. 
A  Petals,  calyx,  stamens  fade  and  die.  Only  one 
part  survives:  the  ovary,  which  is  to  become  fruit. 
Now,  in  order  to  outlive  the  rest  of  the  flower  and 
remain  on  its  stem  when  all  else  dries  up  and  falls, 
the  ovary  at  the  moment  of  blossoming,  receives  an 
access  of  vigor,  I  might  almost  say  a  new  life.  The 
magnificence  of  the  corolla,  its  sumptuous  coloring, 
its  perfume,  all  serve  to  celebrate  the  solemn  moment 
when  this  new  vitality  is  awakened  in  the  ovary. 
This  great  act  accomplished,  the  flower  has  had  its 
day. 

"Well,  it  is  the  dust  of  the  stamens,  the  pollen, 
that  gives  this  increase  of  energy  without  which  the 
nascent  seeds  would  perish  in  the  ovary,  itself 
withered.  It  falls  from  the  stamens  on  to  the 
stigma,  which  constantly  wears  a  sticky  coating  de- 
signed to  hold  it ;  and  from  the  stigma  it  makes  its 
mysterious  influence  felt  in  the  very  depths  of  the 
ovary.  Animated  then  with  new  life,  the  nascent 
seeds  develop  rapidly,  while  the  ovary  swells  so  as  to 
give  them  the  nourishment  and  the  space  they  re- 
quire. The  final  result  of  this  incomprehensible  tra- 

150 


POLLEN 


151 


vail  is  the  fruit,  with  its  contained  seeds  all  ready 
to  germinate. 

"Let  us  cite  a  few  of  the  numerous  experiments 
that  prove  the  absolute  indispensability  of  pollen. 

"Most  flowers  have  both  stamens  and  pistils;  but 
there  are  plants  that  have  their  stamens  and  pistils 
in  separate  flowers.  Sometimes  the  flowers  with  sta- 
mens only  and  those  with  pistils  only  are  found  on 
the  same  plant;  sometimes  they  are  found  on  sepa- 
rate plants.  Plants 
having  flowers  with 
stamens  only  and 
flowers  with  pistils 
only  on  the  same 
stock  are  called 
monoecious  plants. 
This  expression 
means  'living  in 
one  house.'  The 
flowers  with  sta- 
mens and  those 
with  pistils  do  indeed  live  together  in  the  same  house, 
since  they  are  found  on  the  same  plant.  The  pump- 
kin, cucumber,  melon,  hazel-nut-tree  are  monoecious 
plants. 

"Where  flowers  with  stamens  and  those  with  pis- 
tils are  found  on  different  stocks,  the  plants  are 
termed  dioecious;  that  is  to  say,  they  are  double- 
house  plants.  Hemp,  the  locust-tree,  and  the  date- 
tree  are  dioecious. 

"It  is  especially  in  monoecious  and  dioecious  plants 


Stamens 


152  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

that  the  pollen's  indispensability  is  plainly  manifest 
on  account  of  the  natural  separation  of  the  stamens 
and  pistils.  Let  us  take  for  example  the  locust,  a 
tree  of  extreme  southern  France,  bearing  seeds  in 
pods  similar  to  those  of  the  pea,  but  brown,  very  long, 
and  very  wide,  and  containing  in  addition  to  the 
seeds  a  sugary  pulp.  Supposing  we  took  a  notion, 
if  the  climate  permitted,  to  grow  locust  seeds  in  our 
garden,  what  locust  tree  must  we  plant?  Evidently 
the  one  with  pistils,  because  it  alone  produces  the 
ovaries  that  become  fruit.  But  that  is  not  enough. 
Planted  by  itself,  the  locust  tree  with  pistils  will  in- 
deed blossom  profusely  every  year,  but  will  never 
in  all  eternity  bear  any  seeds,  for  its  flowers  will  fall 
without  leaving  a  single  ovary  on  the  branches. 
What  is  wanting?  The  action  of  the  pollen.  Near 
the  locust  with  pistils  let  us  plant  one  with  stamens. 
Now  fructification  proceeds  as  we  wish.  Puffs  of 
wind,  insects  that  pilfer  from  one  flower  and  carry 
to  another — these  convey  the  pollen  from  the  sta- 
mens to  the  stigmas,  the  torpid  ovaries  spring  to 
life,  and  the  locust  pods  grow  and  ripen  perfectly. 
With  pollen,  seeds ;  without  pollen,  no  seeds. 

"Another  example.  In  spots  of  fertile  land  in 
Northern  Africa,  spots  of  land  called  oases,  the 
Arabs  cultivate  numerous  date-trees  which  provide 
them  with  dates,  their  principal  food.  Date-trees, 
too,  like  the  locust,  are  dkecious.  Now,  in  the  coun- 
try of  the  date-tree,  a  sandy  plain  parched  by  the 
sun,  spots  of  watered  and  fertile  land  are  rare  and 
have  to  be  turned  to  the  utmost  possible  account. 


POLLEN  153 

Accordingly  the  Arabs  plant  only  date-trees  with 
pistils,  the  only  ones  that  will  produce  dates.  But 
when  they  are  in  flower,  the  Arabs  go  long  distances 
to  fetch  bunches  of  blossoms  with  stamens  from 
wild  date  trees  in  order  to  shake  the  pollen  on  the 
trees  they  have  planted.  Without  this  precaution 
there  is  no  harvest. 

"But  I  am  coming  to  an  example  that  will  be  more 
familiar  to  us.  The  pumpkin  is  monoecious :  flowers 
with  stamens  and  flowers  with  pistils  inhabit  the 
same  house,  the  same  vine.  Before  they  are  full- 
blown they  can  easily  be  distinguished  from  each 
other.  The  flowers  with  pistils  have  under  the  co- 
rolla a  large  swelling  which  is  the  ovary,  the  future 
pumpkin.  The  blossoms  with  stamens  have  not  this 
swelling.  Well,  from  one  pumpkin  vine  standing 
apart  in  the  garden  let  us  cut  off  all  the  buds  with 
stamens  before  they  open,  and  leave  those  with 
pistils.  For  greater  surety  we  will  wrap  each  one 
of  these  latter  in  a  piece  of  gauze  large  enough  to 
let  the  flower  develop  without  hindrance.  This  oper- 
ation must  be  carried  out  before  the  buds  open,  in 
order  to  make  sure  that  the  stigmas  have  not  already 
received  any  pollen.  Under  these  conditions,  not 
being  able  to  receive  the  vivifying  dust,  since  the 
flowers  with  stamens  are  cut  off,  and  since  also  the 
gauze  wrappings  keep  out  the  insects  that  might 
bring  the  pollen  they  had  pilfered  from  some  neigh- 
boring pumpkin  vine,  the  pistillate  flowers  will 
wither  after  languishing  awhile,  and  their  ovaries 
will  dry  up  without  growing  into  pumpkins.  If, 


154  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

however,  we  wish  any  selected  blossoms  to  fructify 
in  spite  of  their  gauze  prison  and  the  suppression 
of  the  staminate  blossoms,  we  take  a  small  camel's 
hair  brush  and  gather  a  little  pollen  which  we  put  on 
the  stigma.  That  is  enough,  the  pumpkin  will  come. 
"The  absolute  necessity  of  pollen  for  the  forma- 
tion of  fruit  explains  to  us  the  harmful  effect  of 
violent  winds  and  prolonged  rains  in  blossoming 
time.  Swept  away  by  blasts  of  wind,  or  washed 
away  by  rains,  or  simply  spoiled  by  long-continued 
moisture,  the  dust  of  the  stamens  no  longer  acts  on 
the  ovaries,  and  the  flowers  fall  without  fructifying. 
This  ruin  of  the  harvest  from  lack  of  pollen  is  known 
as  blight." 


CHAPTER  XXXH 

THE  GRAIN"    OF   WHEAT 

turn  your  attention  to  this  picture  of  an  ivy 
seed  cut  through  lengthwise.  Where  is  the 
germ  or  little  plant  in  its  egg?  It  is  that  little  white 
thing,  rather  long  and  narrow,  embedded  in  the  sub- 
stance of  the  seed  at  one  end.  A  fine  line 
marks  the  division  of  the  two  cotyledons, 
which  are  now  pressed  close  together. 
Next  to  them  comes  the  tigella,  or  little 
stalk,  ending  in  the  radicle,  or  rootlet. 
Notice,  my  friends,  how  small  these  coty- 
ledons  are,  how  different  from  the  enor-  lTy  Seed 
mous  nursing-leaves  of  the  ^almond,  acorn,  broad 
bean,  kidney  bean,  and  pea.  These  poor  little  plant- 
udder-s  must  soon  get  dried  up,  and  if  there  were  no 
other  resources  available  at  the  time  of  germination 
the  ivy  would  speedily  starve  to  death. 

"But  look:  under  the  skin  of  the  seed  we  find  a 
goodly  store  of  farinaceous  matter,  in  which  the 
germ  is  embedded.  Almost  the  whole  of  the  seed 
consists  of  this  accumulation  of  flour.  So  here  we 
have  the  food-supply  that  will  supplement  that  con- 
tained in  the  cotyledons,  a  very  insufficient  provision 
in  itself.  This  granary  of  plenty  within  which  the 
germ  is  lodged,  this  storehouse  of  food  is  called  the 

155 


156  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

perisperm.  The  almond,  acorn,  pea,  bean,  with  a 
host  of  others,  are  quite  lacking  in  anything  of  the 
sort,  having  under  the  skin  only  the  germ  and  noth- 
ing more,  absolutely  nothing.  The  reason  for  this 
difference  is  plain  enough.  The  almond,  bean,  pea, 
acorn,  with  their  big  cotyledons  bursting  with  nu- 
tritive matter,  do  not  need  a  supplementary  ration ; 
the  germ  will  be  sufficiently  suckled  by  the  udders 
nature  has  provided  in  the  form  of  these  cotyledons. 
But  the  ivy,  with  its  poor  little  cotyledons,  calls  for 
help,  and  finds  it  in  the  farinaceous  storehouse  of 
the  perisperm. 

"Thus  a  seed  may  have  a  double  supply  of  nour- 
ishment to  meet  the  needs  of  the  young  plant :  that 
contained  in  the  cotyledons  and  that  stored  up  in 
the  perisperm.  Cotyledons  are  never  lacking,  but 
the  perisperm  is  not  found  in  all  seeds.  There  is 
none  in  the  almond,  acorn,  chestnut,  apricot,  bean,  or 
pea;  but  to  make  up  for  this  lack  their  cotyledons 
are  of  considerable  size.  On  the  other  hand,  buck- 
wheat, chickweed,  and  ivy,  whose  cotyledons  are 
small,  are  provided  with  a  perisperm.  All  this  may 
be  reduced  to  one  general  rule.  Cotyledons  and 
perisperm  play  similar  parts:  they  both  help  to 
nourish  the  little  plant  in  its  infancy.  So,  generally 
speaking,  the  seed  with  large  cotyledons  has  no  per- 
isperm, while  the  seed  with  small  cotyledons  has  one. 

"I  have  just  told  you  that  many  plants  have  only 
one  cotyledon.  I  will  add  that  this  cotyledon  is  usu- 
ally very  small.  It  is  especially  in  these  plants  that 
the  perisperm  is  present.  The  grain  of  wheat  offers 


THE  GRAIN  OF  WHEAT 


157 


a  notable  illustration  of  this  truth.  Cut  lengthwise 
and  looked  at  through  a  magnifying-glass,  this  seed 
would  reveal  to  us  what  is  represented  in  the  pic- 
ture I  now  show  you.  At  the  bottom  and  toward  one 
side  is  the  germ,  forming  but  a  very  small  part  of 
the  seed.  At  c  is  the  single  cotyledon,  whence  will 
come  the  first  leaf,  the  seminal  leaf.  At  e  is  the  gem- 
mule,  which  will  furnish  the  next  leaves.  At  the  op- 
posite end  is  a  short  nipple,  the  radicle,  whence  the 
root  will  spring.  Now  compare  the  tiny  cotyledon  of 
the  wheat  with  the  two  voluminous  ones  of  the  al- 
mond. The  latter,  with  their  rich 
store  of  nourishment,  will  easily  be 
able  to  feed  the  young  plant  until  it 
has  vigorous  roots ;  but  the  cotyledon 
of  the  wheat,  so  poor  and  slender — 
can  it  nourish  the  young  plant? 
Certainly  not.  Then  the  wheat  germ 
must  without  fail  have  a  storehouse 
of  provisions.  This  storehouse  is 
the  perisperm  (pr),  a  farinaceous 
mass  constituting  nearly  the  whole 
of  the  seed.  This  same  perisperm, 
the  first  food  of  the  wheat's  first  shoot,  is  also  the 
chief  food  of  man;  it  is  what,  under  the  millstone, 
becomes  flour,  of  which  bread  is  made.  But  how 
can  the  farinaceous  substance  of  the  perisperm  nour- 
ish the  plant  ?  A  very  simple  experiment  will  show 
us.  Put  some  wheat  in  a  saucer  and  keep  it  slightly 
moist.  In  a  short  time  the  seed  will  germinate.  As 
soon  as  the  young  sprouts  show  their  green  points 


158  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

take  one  of  the  grains:  you  will  find  it  softened  all 
through.  You  can  crush  it  between  your  fingers 
and  squeeze  out  a  white  fluid,  very  sweet  to 
the  taste  and  much  resembling  some  sort  of  milk. 
What  has  taken  place  ought  not  to  be  beyond  your 
power  to  surmise  from  the  account  I  gave  you  of  the 
wonderful  change  starch  may  undergo.  The  per- 
isperm  of  the  wheat-grain  consists  chiefly  of  starch. 
During  germination  this  accumulation  of  starch  is 
converted  into  a  sugary  substance,  into  glucose  in 
fact.  Thence  comes  the  sort  of  plant-milk  with 
which  the  seed  is  now  swollen.  The  germ  is  im- 
mersed in  this  sweet  liquid ;  it  imbibes  it,  soaks  it  up 
almost  as  a  fine  sponge  would ;  and  with  the  matter 
thus  absorbed  it  augments  its  own  substance,  which 
lengthens  into  root,  stem,  and  leaves.  With  what 
furnishes  us  bread  the  grain  of  wheat  suckles  the 
starting  wheat-stalk. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

CULTIVATED    PLANTS 

rriHREE  modes  of  plant-propagation  are  in  use 
L  among  horticulturists,  namely:  layering,  slip- 
ping, and  grafting.  To  get  an  adequate  notion  of 
the  great  usefulness  of  these  operations  let  us  dwell 
for  a  moment  on  the  origin  of  our  cultivated  plants. 
"You  perhaps  imagine  that  from  the  beginning  of 
time,  in  view  of  our  need  of  food,  the  pear-tree  was 
eager  to  bear  large  fruit,  plump  and  juicy ;  that  the 
potato,  just  to  accommodate  us,  stuffed  its  big  tubers 
with  farinaceous  matter ;  that  the  cabbage,  in  its  de- 
sire to  gratify  us,  conceived  the  idea  of  gathering 
those  beautiful  white  leaves  into  a  compact  head. 
You  imagine  that  wheat,  pumpkins,  carrots,  grapes, 
beets,  and  no  one  knows  what  besides,  possessed  with 
a  great  interest  in  man,  have  always  worked  for  him 
of  their  own  accord.  You  think  that  our  grapes  of 
to-day  are  like  those  from  which  Noah  extracted  the 
juice  that  made  him  drunk;  that  wheat,  ever  since  it 
appeared  on  the  earth,  has  never  failed  to  yield  its 
annual  harvest  of  grain ;  that  the  beet  and  the  pump- 
kin had  at  the  beginning  of  the  world  the  plumpness 
that  makes  them  prized  by  us  now.  You  imagine, 
in  short,  that  our  food-plants  came  to  us  originally 
just  as  we  have  them  now.  JJndeceive  yourselves: 


160  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

the  wild  plant  is  usually  of  very  little  nutritive  value 
to  man.  His  is  still  the  task  of  so  cultivating  it  as 
to  derive  advantage  from  its  natural  aptitudes  by 
improving  them. 

"In  its  native  country,  on  the  mountains  of  Chile 
and  Peru,  the  potato  in  its  wild  state  is  a  poor  di- 
minutive tuber  about  as  large  as  a  hazel-nut.  Man 
takes  the  worthless  wild  stock  into  his  garden,  plants 
it  in  rich  soil,  tends  it,  waters  it;  and  behold,  from 
year  to  year  the  potato  thrives  more  and  more,  gain- 
ing in  size  and  in  nutritive  properties,  and  finally  be- 
coming a  farinaceous  tuber  as  large  as  your  two 
fists. 

"On  the  sea-coasts,  exposed  to  all  the  winds  that 
blow,  there  grows  a  wild  cabbage  with  a  tall  stalk  and 
a  few  green  leaves  of  bitter  taste  and  rank  odor. 
But  beneath  its  rude  exterior  it  may  perhaps  hide 
invaluable  aptitudes.  Apparently  this  suspicion  oc- 
curred to  him  who  first,  so  long  ago  that  the  record  of 
it  is  lost,  took  the  sea-coast  cabbage  under  cultiva- 
tion. The  suspicion  was  well-founded.  The  wild 
cabbage  has  been  improved  by  man's  incessant  care: 
its  stalk  has  become  firmer  and  its  leaves  have  multi- 
plied, whitened,  acquired  tenderness,  and  massed 
themselves  in  a  compact  head,  so  that  we  have  the 
crisp  and  succulent  cabbage  of  to-day  as  the  admir- 
able result  of  this  notable  metamorphosis.  There  on 
the  sea-coast  rock  was  the  first  beginning  of  the  ex- 
cellent plant;  here  in  our  gardens  is  its  present  at- 
tainment. But  what  about  its  intermediate  forms 
which,  through  the  centuries,  marked  the  gradual 


CULTIVATED  PLANTS  161 

development  of  the  species  to  its  present  high  state 
of  perfection?  Each  of  these  forms  was  a  step  for- 
ward, and  each  had  to  be  preserved,  kept  from  de- 
generating, and  made  the  subject  of  still  further 
improvement.  Who  could  tell  the  story  of  all  the 
labor  and  pains  it  has  taken  to  produce  the  cabbage- 
head  as  we  now  have  it? 

"And  the  wild  pear-tree — are  you  acquainted  with 
it?  It  is  a  frightful  bramble-bush,  all  bristling  with 
sharp  thorns ;  and  the  pears  themselves — a  most  re- 
pellent fruit,  sure  to  choke  you  and  set  your  teeth 
on  edge — are  very  small,  sour,  hard,  and  full  of 
grit  that  reminds  one  of  gravel-stones.  Surely  he 
must  have  had  an  extraordinary  inspiration  who  first 
pinned  his  faith  on  this  crabbed  specimen  of  under- 
brush and  foresaw  in  the  remote  future  the  butter- 
pear  on  which  we  regale  ourselves  to-day. 

"In  the  same  way,  by  the  painstaking  culture  of 
the  primitive  vine,  whose  grapes  were  no  larger  than 
our  elderberries,  man  has,  in  the  sweat  of  his  brow, 
developed  the  luscious  fruit  of  the  modern  vineyard. 
From  some  poor  species  of  grass  now  forgotten  he 
has  also  produced  the  wheat  that  to-day  supplies  us 
with  bread.  A  few  wretched  herbs  and  shrubs,  far 
from  promising  in  appearance,  he  has  cultivated  and 
improved  until  they  became  the  vegetables  and  fruit 
trees  so  prized  by  us  at  present.  This  old  earth  of 
ours,  in  order  to  make  us  work  and  thus  fulfil  the 
law  of  our  existence,  has  behaved  to  us  like  a  harsh 
stepmother.  To  the  birds  of  the  air  she  gives  food 
in  abundance,  but  to  us  she  offers  of  her  own  free 


162  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

will  nothing  but  wild  blackberries  and  sour  sloes. 
But  let  us  not  complain,  for  the  stern  struggle  with 
necessity  is  precisely  what  constitutes  our  grandeur. 

"It  is  for  us,  by  our  intelligence  and  labor,  to  work 
our  way  out  of  the  difficulty ;  upon  us  it  is  enjoined 
to  put  into  practice  the  noble  creed,  God  helps  those 
who  help  themselves. 

"Thus  from  the  earliest  times  it  has  been  man's 
study  to  select  from  the  countless  forms  of  vegeta- 
tion at  his  disposal  those  that  best  lend  themselves 
to  improvement.  The  greater  number  of  species 
have  remained  useless  to  us,  but  others,  predestined 
no  doubt,  and  created  especially  with  a  view  to  man's 
needs,  have  responded  to  our  efforts  and  acquired 
through  cultivation  qualities  of  prime  importance, 
since  our  sustenance  depends  on  them.  Neverthe- 
less the  improvement  attained  is  not  so  radical  that 
we  can  count  on  its  permanence  if  our  vigilance  re- 
laxes. The  plant  always  tends  to  revert  to  its  prim- 
itive state.  For  example,  let  the  gardener  leave  the 
headed  cabbage  to  itself  without  fertilizing,  water- 
ing, or  cultivating  it;  let  him  leave  the  seeds  to 
germinate  by  chance  wherever  the  wind  blows  them, 
and  the  cabbage  will  quickly  part  with  its  compact 
head  of  white  leaves  and  resume  the  loose  green 
leaves  of  its  wild  ancestors.  In  like  manner  the  vine, 
set  free  from  man's  constant  attention,  will  degen- 
erate into  the  little-esteemed  wild  species  that  haunts 
our  hedge-rows  and  yields  a  scant  harvest  that  will 
not,  all  together,  be  worth  a  single  bunch  of  culti- 
vated grapes.  The  pear-tree,  if  neglected,  will  again 


CULTIVATED  PLANTS  163 

be  found  on  the  outskirts  of  our  woods,  once  more 
bristling  with  long  sharp  thorns  and  bearing  under- 
sized and  extremely  unpalatable  fruit.  Under  like 
conditions  the  plum-tree  and  the  cherry-tree  will  bear 
nothing  but  stones  covered  with  a  sour  skin.  In 
short,  all  the  riches  of  our  orchards  will  in  similar 
circumstances  undergo  such  deterioration  as  to  be 
worthless  to  us. 

1  'This  reversion  to  the  wild  state  occurs  even 
under  cultivation  and  in  spite  of  efforts  to  prevent  it 
when  seed  is  used  for  propagating  the  plant.  Sup- 
pose the  seeds  from  an  excellent  pear  are  put  into 
the  ground.  Well,  the  trees  that  spring  from  those 
seeds  will  bear  for  the  most  part  only  mediocre  or 
poor,  even  very  poor,  pears.  Another  planting  is 
made  with  the  pits  of  the  second  generation,  and  the 
result  shows  still  further  decline.  Thus  if  the  ex- 
periment is  continued  with  seeds  taken  each  time 
from  the  immediately  preceding  generation,  the 
fruit,  becoming  smaller  and  smaller,  bitterer  and 
harder,  will  at  last  return  to  the  sorry  wild  pear  of 
the  thicket. 

"One  more  example.  "What  flower  equals  the  rose 
in  nobleness  of  carriage,  in  perfume  and  brilliant 
coloring?  Suppose  we  plant  the  seeds  of  this  superb 
flower ;  its  descendants  will  turn  out  to  be  miserable 
bushes,  nothing  but  wild  roses  like  those  of  our 
hedges.  But  we  need  not  be  surprised  at  this.  The 
noble  plant  had  the  wild  rose  for  ancestor,  and  in 
trying  to  propagate  it  by  its  seed  we  have  simply 
caused  it  to  resume  its  native  characteristics. 


164  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

''With  some  plants,  let  us  note  in  conclusion,  the 
improvement  attained  by  cultivation  is  more  stable 
and  persists  even  when  the  seed  is  used  for  purposes 
of  propagation;  but  this  persistence  is  only  on  the 
express  condition  that  our  vigilance  shall  not  relax. 
All  plants,  if  left  to  themselves  and  propagated  by 
seed,  revert  to  the  primitive  state  after  a  certain 
number  of  generations  in  which  the  characteristics 
imposed  by  human  skill  and  care  gradually  dis- 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

DIFFERENT   WAYS   OF   PROPAGATING 

INGE  our  fruit-trees  and  ornamental  plants,  if 
propagated  by  seed,  revert  sooner  or  later  to 
the  wild  type,  how  can  they  be  propagated  without 
risk  of  degeneration?  This  must  be  done  by  means 
of  the  buds  instead  of  the  seeds.  Buds  or  branches 
of  a  plant  or  tree  must  be  transplanted  from  one 
stock  to  another ;  this  is  called  grafting ;  or  they  may 
be  planted  directly  in  the  soil  by  processes  known 
as  layering  and  slipping.  These  are  invaluable 
methods,  since  they  enable  us  to  stabilize  in  the  plant 
the  improvements  attained  after  long  years  of  labor, 
and  thus  to  profit  by  these  improvements,  which  we 
owe  to  our  predecessors,  instead  of  beginning  all 
over  again  a  course  of  training  that  would  demand 
far  more  than  a  single  life-time. 

' '  Layering,  slipping,  and  grafting  insure  the  faith- 
ful reproduction  of  all  the  qualities  of  the  parent 
stock.  As  are  the  fruit,  flowers,  foliage  of  this  par- 
ent stock  which  has  furnished  the  buds  or  slips  for 
transplanting,  so  will  be  the  fruit,  flowers,  foliage  of 
the  resulting  plant  or  tree.  Nothing  will  be  added 
to  the  qualities  we  wish  to  perpetuate,  but  on  the 
other  hand  nothing  will  be  subtracted.  To  the 
double  flowers  of  the  original  from  which  came  the 

165 


166  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

layer,  the  slip,  or  the  graft,  will  correspond  the 
double  flowers  of  the  plant  developing  from  this 
layer,  slip,  or  graft :  the  same  shade  of  coloring  will 
be  reproduced,  and  the  fruit  will  have  the  same  size, 
savor,  and  sweetness.  The  slightest  peculiarity 
which,  for  unknown  reasons,  appears  in  a  plant 
grown  from  the  seed,  and  which  sometimes  is  found 
only  on  a  single  branch,  as  the  indented  outline  of 
the  leaves  or  the  variegation  of  the  blossoms,  is  re- 
produced with  minute  accuracy  if  the  graft,  slip,  or 
layer  is  taken  from  the  branch  having  this  modifica- 
tion. By  this  means  horticulture  is  daily  enriching 
itself  with  double  flowers  or  a  new  shade,  or  with 
fruit  remarkable  for  its  size,  its  early  or  late  ripen- 
ing, its  juicy  flesh,  its  more  pronounced  aroma. 
Without  the  help  of  graft  and  slip  these  fortunate 
accidents,  occurring  but  once  and  no  one  knows  how, 
would  lead  to  no  further  profit  after  the  death  of  the 
plant  thus  favored  by  chance ;  and  horticulture  would 
find  itself  compelled  to  repeat  over  and  over  again 
its  attempts  to  bring  about  improvements  which,  al- 
most as  soon  as  effected,  would  invariably  be  lost 
for  want  of  means  to  fix  them  and  render  them  per- 
manent. 

"If  history  had  preserved  the  record,  what  long 
and  painful  efforts  to  develop  our  various  cultivated 
plants  from  worthless  seedlings  should  we  not  read 
there!  Just  think  of  what  a  happy  inspiration  it 
must  have  taken  to  select  exactly  the  kind  of  vege- 
table or  other  plant  susceptible  of  improvement, 
what  patient  experimental  attempts  to  subject  it  to 


DIFFERENT  WAYS  OF  PROPAGATING     167 

cultivation,  what  wearisome  labor  to  improve  its 
quality  from  one  year  to  another,  what  care  to  pre- 
vent its  degenerating  and  to  hand  it  down  to  pos- 
terity in  perfect  condition.  Think  of  all  this  and 
you  will  see  how  the  smallest  fruit,  the  smallest  vege- 
table, represents  more  than  the  toil  of  him  who  has 
raised  it  in  his  garden.  It  represents,  perhaps,  the 
accumulated  effort  of  a  hundred  generations,  an  ef- 
fort indispensable  if  we  are  to  have  a  succulent  pot- 
herb as  the  descendant  of  a  worthless  weed.  We  live 
on  the  fruit  and  vegetables  created  by  our  prede- 
cessors ;  we  live  on  the  labor,  strength,  ideas  of  the 
past.  May  the  future  in  its  turn  live  on  our  strength 
both  of  arm  and  thought !  .So  shall  we  worthily  ful- 
fill our  mission. 

"It  was  not  chance  that  gave  man  the  idea  of 
layering,  slipping,  and  grafting,  but  rather  the 
thoughtful  observation  of  nature 's  methods  all  about 
him.  He  who  was  first,  for  example,  to  note  how  the 
strawberry  grows  and  multiplies,  received  the  first 
lesson  in  layering.  Let  us  in  our  turn  examine  this 
curious  process. 

"From  the  parent  stock  of  the  strawberry  vine  a 
number  of  runners  start  out,  long,  slender,  and 
creeping  on  the  ground.  These  runners  are  also 
known  as  stolons  or  creeping  suckers.  After  reach- 
ing a  certain  distance  they  expand  at  the  end  into  a 
little  tuft  which  takes  root  in  the  ground  and  is  soon 
self-supporting.  The  new  tuft  of  the  strawberry 
vine,  as  soon  as  strong  enough,  in  its  turn  sends  out 
long  runners  which  follow  the  example  of  the  first 


168  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

ones ;  that  is  to  say,  they  creep  along  the  gronnd,  end 
each  in  a  rosette  of  leaves,  and  take  root.  The  pic- 
ture shows  us  a  first  tuft,  more  vigorous  than  the 
others.  From  the  axil  of  one  of  its  leaves  starts  a 
runner  whose  terminal  bud  has  developed  into  a 
small  plant  already  provided  with  roots  of  some 
vigor.  A  second  runner  sprung  from  this  plant 
bears  a  third  rosette  whose  leaves  are  beginning  to 


Strawberry  Banner 

unfold.  After  sending  out  an  indefinite  number  of 
similar  runners  the  mother  plant  finds  herself  sur- 
rounded with  young  suckers,  established  here  and 
there,  as  many  as  the  season  and  the  nature  of  the 
soil  permit.  At  first  these  suckers  are  attached  to 
the  mother  plant  by  the  runners,  and  sap  flows  from 
the  old  plant  to  the  young  ones ;  but  sooner  or  later 
there  is  a  severance  of  ties,  the  runners  dry  up  and 
are  henceforward  useless,  and  each  offshoot,  prop- 
erly rooted,  becomes  a  separate  strawberry  vine. 
Here  we  find,  without  any  of  man's  ingenuity  or 
skill,  all  the  details  of  layering;  and  it  was  un- 
doubtedly the  natural  process  that  suggested  the  ar- 


DIFFERENT  WAYS  OF  PROPAGATING      169 

tificial  method.  A  long  branch  bends  down  to  the 
ground,  takes  root  there,  and  then  becomes  detached 
from  the  parent  stock  by  the  death  or  destruction 
of  the  connecting  part.  The  horticulturist  lays  a 
long  shoot  in  the  ground,  waits  until  it  sends  down 
adventitious  roots,  and  finally  severs  the  connection 
with  his  pruning-shears.  That  is  layering." 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

LAYEEING 

OME  plants,  and  among  them  the  pink,  send  out 
from  the  base  of  the  mother  stalk  straight, 
pliant  shoots  which  can  be  used  for  obtaining  so 
many  new  plants.  These  shoots  are  bedded  by  being 
bent  elbow-wise  and  having  the  angle 
stuck  into  the  ground  and  fastened 
there  with  a  crotch;  then  the  end  is 
raised  upright  and  held  so  by  means 
Layering  of  a  stake.  Sooner  or  later  the  buried 
elbow  sends  down  adventitious  roots,  but  until  then 
nourishment  is  drawn  from  the  parent  stock.  When 
the  buried  parts  have  sent  down  enough  roots,  the 
connections  are  cut  between  the  old  plant  and  the 
new  ones,  and  each  of  these  latter,  set  out  by  itself, 
is  thenceforth  a  distinct  plant.  This  operation  is 
called  layering,  and  the  several  shoots  used  in  ob- 
taining new  plants  are  called  layers. 

"Let  us  now  put  into  practice  the  method  we  have 
just  been  studying  in  theory.  In  a  vineyard,  we  will 
suppose,  a  number  of  the  vines  have  died  from  some 
cause  or  other,  and  it  is  necessary  to  replace  them. 
Layering  offers  us  the  readiest  means  and  will  oc- 
casion least  delay  to  the  harvest.  Near  the  place 
occupied  by  the  dead  vine  we  select  a  stock  provided 
170 


LAYERING  171 

with  a  vigorous  shoot  of  sufficient  length  and  con- 
veniently situated.  Then  we  dig  down  where  the  old 
vine  stands  and  pull  up  all  of  the  lifeless  stalk  as 
well  as  the  roots,  since  these  are  seats  of  decay  that 
might  infect  the  whole  neighborhood.  Finally,  in 
the  soil  thus  stirred  we  dig  a  ditch  two  or  three  deci- 
meters deep,  and  in  this  we  lay  the  shoot  we  have 
selected,  taking  care  in  bending  it  down  not  to  break 
or  splinter  it.  The  part  thus  put  into  the  ground  is 
then  covered  with  a  tolerably  thick  layer  of  earth, 
and  on  this,  to  complete  the  filling  of  the  ditch,  is 
thrown  a  basketful  of  manure.  The  tip  of  the  shoot 
is  raised  upright,  tied  to  a  stake,  and  trimmed  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  retain  only  two  eyes  or  buds 
above  ground.  As  to  the  eyes  on  the  part  extending 
from  the  mother  stem  to  the  point  where  the  shoot 
plunges  into  the  ground,  they  are  nipped  off  because 
they  would  needlessly  appropriate  a  part  of  the  sap. 
This  operation  is  called  vine-layering,  and  the  shoot 
bent  down  and  placed  in  the  ground  we  speak  of  as  a 
vine-layer.  The  best  time  for  this  work  is  the  be- 
ginning of  winter,  because  the  long  rest  enjoyed  by 
the  shoot  in  the  ground  throughout  the  season  when 
vegetation  slumbers  disposes  it  to  sprout  with  more 
vigor  upon  the  renewal  of  sap-circulation  in  the 
spring. 

"Let  us  now  watch  the  behavior  of  the  partly 
buried  vine-shoot.  If  it  had  remained  all  in  the  open 
air,  it  would  have  borne  fruit ;  it  would  have  had  its 
three  or  four  bunches  of  grapes.  Why  should  it  not 
do  so  under  the  conditions  imposed  by  the  vine- 


172  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

dresser,  conditions  that  have  altered  nothing  in  its 
relations  to  the  mother  stem?  It  still  remains  in 
uninterrupted  communication  with  the  vine  that  sus- 
tains it ;  it  receives  its  share  of  ascending  sap  drawn 
from  the  soil  by  the  roots  of  this  vine ;  the  buds  re- 
maining to  it  will  develop  leaves  which,  with  the  help 
of  sunlight,  will  convert  this  crude  sap  into  elabo- 
rated sap;  in  short,  it  lacks  nothing  to  enable  it  to 
function  almost  as  it  would  have  done  had  it  not 
been  partly  buried.  And  in  fact  the  vine-layer  does 
bear  that  same  year ;  if  well  cared  for,  it  bears  sev- 
eral bunches  of  grapes.  So  the  proverb  says :  The 
vine-layer  pays  its  owner  from  the  very  first  year. 
Meanwhile,  acted  on  by  the  coolness  and  moisture  of 
the  soil  and  the  stimulus  of  fertilization,  it  puts  forth 
adventitious  roots  where  it  has  been  placed  under- 
ground, and  these  roots  grow  in  number  and  vigor 
until  the  time  comes  when  they  suffice  to  nourish  the 
young  vine  without  the  help  of  the  mother  stem.  It 
is  in  the  third  year  that  the  rooting  is  far  enough 
advanced  for  the  young  offshoot's  independent  ex- 
istence. Weaning  is  then  undertaken,  and  the  nurs- 
ling is  deprived  of  its  nurse ;  that  is  to  say,  a  stroke 
of  the  pruning-knife  close  to  the  ground  and  on  the 
side  toward  the  parent  stock  separates  the  latter 
from  the  vine-layer,  which  becomes  henceforth  self- 
supporting. 

"With  its  long  shoots  so  near  the  ground  the  vine 
offers  every  convenience  for  carrying  out  the  opera- 
tion just  described ;  but  as  a  general  rule  shrubs  and 
trees  are  far  less  favorably  situated :  their  branches 


LAYERING  173 

are  not  long  enough  or  flexible  enough  or  (a  prime 
essential)  near  enough  to  the  ground  to  be  bent  down 
and  laid  in  the  trench  dug  for  receiving  the  layer. 
How  is  this  difficulty  to  be  overcome?  The  way  is 
very  simple.  We  have  already  observed  the  effect 
of  cutting  back ;  we  know  that  a  stem  cut  back,  that 
is  to  say  cut  off  close  to  the  ground,  develops  around 
the  border  of  its  wound  numerous  adventitious  buds 
which  grow  into  so  many  shoots.  They  are  precisely 
the  sort  of  shoots  we  need,  long,  flexible,  and  starting 
from  the  level  of  the  ground.  Each  of  them,  if 
treated  as  a  layer,  partly  buried  in  a  trench  where 
it  is  fixed  with  a  crotch,  and  held,  above  ground,  in  a 
vertical  position  by  means  of  a  prop,  takes  root 
sooner  or  later  according  to  its  species,  and  can  then 
be  transferred  as  an  independent  plant  to  any  de- 
sired spot.  Such  is  the  simple  method  known  both 
as  layering  and  as  arching,  because  it  is  essentially 
the  same  as  ordinary  layering  and  at  the  same  time 
necessitates  the  bending  of  the  young  shoot  so  as  to 
describe  an  arch. 

"The  following  method  dispenses  with  this  bend- 
ing, which  is  impracticable  when  the  wood  is  too 
brittle.  In  the  spring  the  stalk  or  trunk  that  is  to 
furnish  the  layers  is  cut  back.  All  around  this  cross- 
section  young  shoots  soon  make  their  appearance, 
after  which  it  is  only  necessary  to  wait  until  they 
are  long  enough  but  have  not  yet  lost  their  tender- 
ness, a  state  most  conducive  to  the  growth  of  ad- 
ventitious buds ;  then  the  parent  trunk  is  earthed  up, 
or  in  other  words  light  soil  is  heaped  all  about  the 


174  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

stump  so  as  to  cover  the  lower  part  of  each  shoot. 
The  earth  is  piled  up  in  the  shape  of  a  truncated 
cone  with  a  cup-shaped  hollow  at  the  top  to  receive 
water  from  time  to  time  and  thus  maintain  the  neces- 
sary degree  of  moisture  and  coolness.  Kept  damp 
and  cool  in  this  manner,  the  young  shoots  will  be- 
fore long  send  down  adventitious  roots,  and  the  fol- 
lowing year  there  will  be  a  cluster  of  rooted  plants 
that  can  easily  be  detached  with  a  knife.  That  is 
what  is  called  layering  by  earthing  up  or  by 
sprouting. 

"If  it  is  found  undesirable  to  cut  back  the  parent 
stem  in  order  to  obtain  shoots  for  layering,  and  if 
at  the  same  time  the  shoot  that  we  wish  to  root  is  too 
high  to  be  bent  down  and  inserted  in  the  ground, 
the  following  expedient  may  be  employed.  A  flower- 
pot broken  in  two  lengthwise  or  a  leaden  cornucopia 
is  hung  on  the  tree,  and  the  branch  to  be  rooted  is 
placed  lengthwise  in  the  pot  or  cornucopia.  The 
pot  is  then  filled  with  mold  or  moss  kept  damp  by 
frequent  watering,  and  the  result,  sooner  or  later, 
is  the  growth  of  adventitious  roots.  When  these  are 
suitably  developed,  gradual  weaning  is  next  in  or- 
der; that  is  to  say,  underneath  the  pot  a  slight  cut 
is  made,  and  this  is  deepened  day  by  day.  The  end 
here  in  view  is  to  accustom  the  layer  little  by  little 
to  do  without  the  mother  stem  and  support  itself. 
At  last  the  separation  is  complete.  This  gradual 
weaning  is  no  less  advantageous  when  the  layers 
are  placed  in  the  ground:  it  assures  the  success  of 
the  operation. 


LAYERING  175 

"If  the  wood  is  tender,  adventitious  roots  spring 
without  difficulty  from  the  interred  part,  and  the 
methods  already  described  suffice  for  the  success  of 
the  layering ;  but  woods  of  dense  structure  are  more 
or  less  obstinate  about  taking  root,  and  might  re- 
main in  the  ground  indefinitely  without  yielding. 
In  such  cases  our  art  must  intervene,  based  on  the 
plant's  manner  of  living.  Let  us  recall  the  effect 
of  a  band  drawn  tightly  about  a  stalk  or  trunk. 
Above  this  line  of  strangulation  the  descending  sap 
accumulates  more  and  more,  since  it  can  no  longer 
continue  on  its  course  between  the  wood  and  the 
bark,  this  latter  being  compressed  by  the  ligature. 
It  accumulates  and  produces  a  ring-shaped  swelling 
where  the  plant  tries  to  discharge  on  the  outside 
the  superabundance  of  matter  arrested  in  its  pas- 
sage. Let  this  protuberance  be  heaped  about  with 
fresh  earth,  and  adventitious  roots  will  speedily  be 
developed  to  allow  the  sap  to  continue  its  descent. 
A  tiny  streamlet,  running  free,  follows  its  channel 
without  effort  and  without  any  undermining  of  ob- 
stacles. But  if  we  obstruct  its  passage  the  accumu- 
lating body  of  water  will  gain  power  to  open  new 
vents  for  itself  through  the  dam.  Sap  does  like- 
wise. Circulating  freely  in  its  natural  channel,  it 
is  not  diverted  from  its  course  by  any  allurements 
on  its  way;  and  unless  the  conditions  present  in 
wood  and  bark  favor  the  growth  of  new  roots,  no 
sap  will  be  expended  for  this  purpose.  But  if  its 
usual  passage  is  barred,  the  sap  devotes  its  energies 
to  the  formation  of  adventitious  roots  in  order  that 


176  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

it  may,  through  them,  resume  its  interrupted  course. 
A  like  result  follows  if  a  ring  of  bark  is  removed 
from  the  buried  part  of  the  branch  or  shoot  that  we 
wish  to  take  root.  The  arrested  sap  produces  a  ring- 
shaped  swelling  on  the  upper  edge  of  the  wound, 
and  from  this  swelling  spring  roots. 

"Now  let  us  apply  these  theoretical  principles. 
If  the  wood  is  compact  and  for  that  reason  rebels 
against  the  laws  of  simple  layering,  we  will  take 
a  piece  of  wire  and  strangle  (that  is  the  word)  the 
branch  we  are  operating  upon;  that  is  to  say,  we 
will  bind  it  tight,  but  without  breaking  the  bark. 
The  compression  should  be  made  just  below  a  bud 
or  eye,  and  about  midway  of  the  part  that  is  to  be 
underground.  This  process  is  called  layering  by 
strangulation. 

"Or  again,  still  midway  of  the  part  to  be  bedded 
in  the  earth,  and  immediately  under  a  bud,  we  cut 
the  bark  all  around  the  branch  without  injuring  the 
wood;  a  second  incision  is  made  a  centimeter  and  a 
half  lower  down;  then  tearing  off  the  strip  of  bark 
between  the  two  circumcisions,  we  remove  it  all  in 
one  piece.  This  method  is  known  as  annular  inci- 
sion from  the  ring  of  bark  thus  taken  away. 

"Or  as  a  third  expedient,  still  midway  of  the  part 
to  be  bedded  in  the  trench,  we  make  with  a  sharp 
instrument  an  oblique  incision  from  below  upward, 
cutting  into  the  wood  as  far  as  the  marrow.  In  this 
way  we  are  enabled  to  raise  a  tongue  comprising  half 
the  thickness  of  the  shoot,  and  this  tongue  is  held  in 
its  lifted  position  by  a  small  pebble  inserted  in  the 


LAYERING  177 

slit.  This  is  what  we  call  a  Y-shaped  incision,  be- 
cause the  raised  tongue  forms  with  the  rest  of  the 
stem  an  opening  like  that  between  the  two  branches 
of  the  letter  Y.  Through  the  half  that  remains  in- 
tact communication  with  the  mother  stem  is  main- 
tained and  the  needed  share  of  crude  sap  is  received, 
while  from  the  cut  and  upraised  half  adventitious 
roots  are  put  forth  because  the  course  of  the  de- 
scending sap  is  arrested  there. 

"In  order  to  bring  into  contact  with  the  damp  soil 
a  greater  extent  of  wounded  fiber  fit  for  putting  forth 
adventitious  roots,  it  is  customary  to  split  the  up- 
raised tongue  in  two  and  keep  the  two  parts  gaping 
by  interposing  a  small  pebble.  This  method  of  dou- 
ble incision  is  used  for  trees  that  offer  the  greatest 
resistance  to  successful  layering. 

"To  sum  up,  all  these  methods  and  others  derived 
from  them  have  for  their  object  the  fostering  of 
adventitious  roots  by  arresting  the  course  of  the 
descending  sap  at  a  certain  point  beneath  the  soil." 


CHAPTER  xxxvi 

SLIPPING 

k  T)  ROPAGATION  by  means  of  a  slip  or  scion  cnt 
1  from  the  parent  tree  and  so  placed  that  it  wifl 
develop  adventitious  roots  we  may  for  convenience 
speak  of  as  slipping.  The  cut  end  of  the  slip  is  set 
in  the  ground  in  some  cool,  moist,  shady  spot  where 
evaporation  is  slow  and  the  temperature  mild.  For 
delicate  slips  the  shelter  of  a  bell-glass  is  often  neces- 
sary in  order  to  insure  the  requisite  moisture  in  the 
atmosphere  and  thus  prevent  the  slip  from  drying 
up  before  it  has  sent  down  roots  to  make  good  its 
losses.  For  greater  surety,  if  the  slip  has  many 
leaves,  most  of  the  lower  ones  are  removed  in  order 
to  reduce  the  evaporating  surface  as  much  as  pos- 
sible without  compromising  the  plant's  vitality, 
which  resides  especially  in  the  upper  part.  But  in 
many  cases  these  precautions  are  needless;  thus,  to 
propagate  the  grape-vine,  willow,  and  poplar,  it 
suffices  merely  to  thrust  the  detached  scion  into  the 
ground. 

"Trees  whose  wood  is  soft  and  well  filled  with 
sap  are  the  ones  best  fitted  for  slipping ;  to  this  class 
belongs  the  willow,  with  its  notably  tender  fiber. 
On  the  other  hand,  wood  that  is  dense  and  hard  gives 
us  sure  warning  that  this  mode  of  propagation  will 


SLIPPING  179 

bu  found  very  difficult  or  even  impossible.  Thus  it 
would  invariably  fail  with  the  oak,  the  olive,  the 
box-tree,  and  a  great  many  more  hard-wood  trees. 
Furthermore,  slipping  offers  far  less  certainty  of 
success  than  layering,  since  the  layer  remains  in 
communication  with  the  parent  stock  and  is  thus 
supplied  with  nourishment  until  it  has  acquired  roots 
of  its  own,  whereas  the  slip,  all  such  communication 
being  abruptly  cut  off,  is  obliged  from  the  outset  to 
rely  on  its  own  resources  and  pass  without  help 
through  the  difficult  period  of  rootlessness.  Among 
fruit-bearers  there  are  scarcely  any  except  the  grape- 
vine, the  currant-bush,  the  quince-tree,  and  a  few 
varieties  of  plum  and  apple  trees,  that  lend  them- 
selves to  this  method  of  propagation.  Among  the 
larger  trees  the  willow  and  the  poplar  take  root  with 
no  difficulty  whatever  when  started  from  the  slip. 
Finally,  a  great  many  ornamental  species,  herba- 
ceous plants  or  bushes  like  the  rose,  jasmine,  and 
honeysuckle,  multiply  easily  by  this  method,  the 
usual  one  adopted  with  them  by  the  flower-gardener. 
"Let  us  go  back  now  to  the  very  simplest  case, 
the  one  calling  for  the  fewest  precautions.  A  damp 
piece  of  ground  on  the  water's  edge  is  to  be  planted 
with  poplars  or  willows.  Toward  the  end  of  winter 
the  forester  in  charge  cuts  a  sufficient  number  of 
vigorous  young  branches  as  large  around  as  a  stout 
cane  or  even  a  man's  fist,  or  perhaps  larger,  and 
from  one  to  four  meters  long.  He  removes  all  the 
lower  twigs,  clips  the  intermediate  ones  to  half  their 
length,  and  leaves  the  upper  ones  intact  if  the  tree 


180  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

is  to  be  pyramid-shaped ;  otherwise  he  gives  the  top 
a  truncate  form.  Finally  the  lower  end  is  cut  to 
a  point  with  the  hatchet,  to  make  it  easier  to  thrust 
into  the  ground.  Now  the  slip  is  ready  for  plant- 
ing, and  all  that  is  necessary  is  to  push  it  well  down 
into  the  earth  by  its  pointed  end  and  leave  it  to 
itself.  Without  any  further  attention,  if  the  ground 
is  sufficiently  damp,  adventitious  roots  will  start. 
and  each  of  the  stakes  thus  rudely  hacked  will  be- 
come a  poplar  or  a  willow. 

"But  other  forms  of  vegetation  are  far  from  mani- 
festing this  facility  in  rooting  which  makes  possible 
the  growth  of  a  tree  from  a  stake  driven  into  the 
ground,  it  may  be  with  the  blow  of  a  club ;  therefore 
delicate  precautions  are  necessary  for  success  if 
these  obdurate  subjects  are  to  be  propagated  by 
slips.  Let  us  take  the  grape-vine  as  an  example. 
Its  slips  for  planting  are  shoots  of  the  same  year's 
growth.  These  are  tied  in  a  bundle  and  their  cut 
ends  placed  in  water  to  soak  for  a  week  or  more. 
Why  this  long  immersion  of  the  part  that  later  is  to 
be  planted  in  the  ground  ?  Because  the  outside  bark 
is  dry  and  tough,  difficult  for  tender  roots  to  pierce, 
especially  if  the  soil  is  dry.  Accordingly  the  bark 
is  softened  by  soaking  for  some  time  in  water ;  and 
also,  when  the  slips  are  taken  out  of  the  water,  they 
are  lightly  scraped  where  they  are  to  be  in  the  earth, 
but  left  untouched  where  they  are  to  be  in  the  air. 
In  this  way  the  outer  layer  of  bark  is  removed 
after  being  softened  in  water,  and  there  is  so  much 
the  less  resistance  offered  to  the  growing  roots; 


SLIPPING  181 

but  the  inner  layers,  where  the  vine 's  vital  activities 
go  on,  are  scrupulously  spared.  The  slight  wounds 
inflicted  by  this  scraping,  let  it  be  further  noted,  fa- 
vor the  starting  of  roots  by  arresting  the  sap.  After 
being  prepared  in  this  manner  the  slips  are  set  out. 
In  soil  that  has  been  well  worked  so  that  the  young 
roots  may  push  downward  without  hindrance,  ver- 
tical holes  are  made  with  a  long  iron  or  wooden  dib- 
ble, and  in  each  of  these  holes  a  slip  is  inserted  to 
the  depth  of  about  half  a  meter.  Fine  earth  is  then 
sifted  into  the  hole  and  well  rammed  down  to  insure 
perfect  contact  with  the  slip,  and  the  operation 
is  finished. 

"  Just  as  the  process  of  layering  is  facilitated  by 
the  formation  of  a  ring-shaped  swelling  where  the 
descending  sap  is  arrested  in  its  course  either  by  a 
ligature  or  by  the  removal  of  a  ring  of  bark,  so  the 
same  artifice  can  be  advantageously  employed  in 
propagating  by  means  of  slips.  Around  the  shoot 
selected  as  slip  for  the  next  year's  planting  an  iron 
wire  is  tightly  bound;  or,  instead  of  this,  a  ring 
of  bark  is  cut  away.  By  autumn  a  swelling  will  have 
formed  all  about  the  stem,  whereupon  the  shoot  is 
detached  and  placed  in  the  ground  for  the  winter 
in  order  that  the  swelling  may  become  a  little  fur- 
ther enlarged  and  somewhat  softened.  In  the  spring 
the  shoot  is  taken  up  again,  trimmed  so  that  it  shall 
have  only  four  or  five  buds  left,  and  planted  like  an 
ordinary  slip.  From  the  ring-shaped  swelling 
caused  by  the  accumulation  of  sap  roots  will  start. 

"All  the  advantages  offered  by  the  ring-shaped 


182  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

swelling  may  be  secured  with  no  expenditure  of  in- 
genuity on  our  part.  Take  hold  of  a  small  branch 
and  pull  it  down  so  as  to  split  it  off  from  the  main 
stem.  Thus  torn  away  it  will  bring  with  it  a  sort  of 
spur  or  splinter  from  the  trunk  directly  under  the 
severed  branch.  This  spur,  trimmed  with  a  knife 
to  give  it  a  less  ragged  outline,  will  render  the  same 
service  as  the  ring-shaped  swelling:  the  descending 
sap  will  be  stopped  in  its  course  at  this  point,  will 
accumulate,  and  will  foster  the  growth  of  adventi- 
tious roots. 

"Instead  of  breaking  off  the  branch  by  tearing  it 
away  at  its  base,  one  can,  with  a  stroke  of  the  prun- 
ing-knife  above  this  base  and  another  below  it,  cut 
the  older  limb  bearing  this  branch  so  that  the  latter 
carries  with  it  a  piece  of  the  former.  With  this 
piece  as  a  sort  of  natural  bourrelet  or  swelling,  suc- 
cess is  rendered  more  assured  than  in  any  other  way. 

"To  conclude,  let  us  say  a  few  words  about  slip- 
ping by  means  of  buds,  a  kind  of  planting  that  uses 
buds  instead  of  seeds.  This  method,  which  requires 
the  nicest  care  of  any,  is  adopted  only  in  exceptional 
cases.  Let  us  suppose  we  have  a  very  few  shoots, 
or  only  one,  from  some  extremely  rare  variety  of 
grape-vine,  and  we  wish  to  obtain  from  this  single 
shoot  the  greatest  possible  number  of  slips.  To 
this  end  the  shoot  is  cut  into  small  pieces  about  five 
centimeters  long,  each  bearing  a  bud  midway  of  its 
length.  These  pieces  are  then  each  split  in  two 
lengthwise,  and  the  part  with  the  bud  is  retained, 
the  other  thrown  away.  Thus  prepared,  the  pieces 


SLIPPING  183 

are  planted  in  fertile  soil  with  the  split  surface  un- 
derneath and  the  bud  just  peeping  out  of  the  earth. 
But  to  insure  any  likelihood  of  success  with  this 
method,  certain  special  conditions  not  called  for  in 
ordinary  planting  must  be  observed,  as  will  be  read- 
ily understood.  The  delicate  slips  are  arranged 
with  care  in  an  earthen  pan  or  pot,  and  covered  with 
a  bell-glass  to  assure  them  a  moist  and  warm  atmos- 
phere. After  roots  have  started  the  slips  are  trans- 
planted, each  being  placed  in  a  separate  pot  where 
it  gains  strength  and  awaits  the  proper  time  for 
planting  in  the  ground." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

GRAFTING 

RAFTING  is  the  process  by  which  a  twig  or 
V-T  a  bud  *  is  transplanted  from  one  branch  to 
another,  or  from  one  tree  to  another.  That  which 
is  to  serve  as  support  and  sustenance  to  the  trans- 
ferred part  is  known  as  the  stock,  while  the  twig  or 
bud  received  by  it  is  called  the  graft. 

"One  absolutely  necessary  condition  must  be  ful- 
filled if  this  operation  is  to  be  successful :  the  trans- 
ferred part  must  find  on  its  new  nursing-branch 
nutriment  to  its  taste,  that  is  to  say,  a  sap  like  its 
own.  This  requires  that  the  two  plants,  the  stock 
and  the  one  that  furnishes  the  graft,  should  be  of 
the  same  species  or  at  least  belong  to  closely  related 
species,  since  likeness  of  sap  and  its  products  can 
result  only  from  likeness  of  organization.  It  would 
be  a  mere  waste  of  time  to  try  to  engraft  the  lilac 
upon  the  rose,  or  the  rose  upon  the  willow,  for  there 
is  nothing  in  common  between  these  three  species 
either  in  leaves,  flowers,  or  fruit.  This  difference 
in  structure  is  invariably  accompanied  by  a  marked 
difference  in  respect  to  nutrition.  Hence  the  rose- 
bud would  starve  to  death  on  a  lilac-branch,  and 

i  In  English  this  transfer  of  a  bud  is  commonly  called  "budding." 
— Translator. 

184 


GRAFTING 


185 


A — Saddle  Grafting 
B — Cleft   Grafting 
C-D— Whip    Grafting 


the  lilac-bud  would  meet  with  the  same  sad  fate 
on  a  rose-bush.  But  lilac  can  very  well  be  grafted 
on  lilac,  rose-bush  on  rose-bush,  vine  on  vine.  And 
one  can  even  go  further  than  this :  a  peach-bud  will 
flourish  on  an  apricot- 
tree,  a  cherry-bud  on 
a  plum-tree,  and  vice 
versa;  for  between 
the  members  of  each 
of  these  pairs  there  is 
a  close  and  easily  dis- 
cernible analogy.  In 
short,  there  must  be 
the  closest  possible 
resemblance  between  the  two  plants  if  grafting  is 
to  succeed. 

"The  ancients  were  far  from  having  any  clear 
idea  on  this  absolute  need  of  likeness  in  organization. 
They  tell  us  of  grafting  the  holly  with  the  rose  to 
obtain  green  roses,  the  walnut  tree  with  the  grape 
to  produce  enormous  grapes  as  large  as  walnuts. 
In  our  own  time  has  not  the  project  been  seriously 
considered  of  grafting  a  vine  shoot  on  to  a  mul- 
berry tree  in  order  to  restore  vigor  to  the  grape 
whose  roots  an  underground  grub  has  attacked? 
Such  graftings  and  others  between  plants  completely 
unlike  have  never  been  successfully  undertaken  ex- 
cept in  the  imagination  of  those  who  dreamt  them. 

"We  have  already  seen  that,  grown  from  seed, 
our  various  fruit  trees  do  not,  as  a  rule,  reproduce 
the  quality  of  fruit  of  the  parent  stock;  an  invin- 


186  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

cible  tendency  to  revert  to  the  wild  state  causes  the 
fruit  to  lose,  little  by  little,  from  one  generation 
to  another,  the  improvement  it  had  acquired  through 
cultivation.  Thus  the  pear,  through  repeated  plant- 
ings of  the  seed,  would  become  increasingly  sour, 
small,  and  hard,  until  it  had  at  last  returned  to  the 
sorry  state  of  the  wild  pear  growing  on  the  edge  of 
the  woods.  But  this  defect  attending  growth  from 
the  seed  is  redeemed  by  one  very  desirable  quality : 
the  tree  thus  grown  regains  more  or  less  the  robust- 
ness of  its  wild  type ;  it  is  incomparably  more  vigor- 
ous, healthier,  longer-lived,  than  the  artificially  per- 
fected tree  whose  strength  is  compromised  by  the 
very  excess  of  its  fructification.  One  has  vigor,  the 
other  fine  fruit.  The  two  attributes  cannot  go  to- 
gether; if  one  increases,  the  other  decreases.  Well 
then,  these  robust  specimens  reared  from  the  seed 
are  just  what  we  require  for  grafting.  Used  as 
stocks,  they  supply  the  quality  inherent  in  them, 
namely,  vigor;  and  the  cutting  engrafted  upon  them 
furnishes  the  other  quality,  excellence  of  fruit. 

4 'Accordingly  it  is  the  practice  to  plant  the  pips 
of  pears  and  apples,  and  the  stones  of  apricots  and 
peaches ;  and  on  the  trees  thus  obtained  to  graft  cut- 
tings from  pear,  apple,  apricot,  and  peach  trees  that 
bear  fruit  of  recognized  superiority.  In  this  way 
there  are  united  in  the  same  tree  the  root  and  trunk 
of  the  robust  and  almost  wild  kind  with  the  leaves 
and  blossoms  of  the  weak  but  artificially  improved 
kind.  Every  variety  of  pear  tree  is  by  nature  fitted 
to  receive  a  pear  graft,  every  variety  of  peach  tree 


GRAFTING  187 

to  receive  a  peach  graft,  and  so  on  with  all  fruit- 
trees.  There  is  no  objection  to  selecting  as  stock 
any  wild  pear,  cherry,  or  plum  tree  that  may  have 
sprung  up  of  itself  in  hedge  or  thicket.  It  is  thus 
for  example  that  the  cherry  is  grafted  on  two  others 
of  like  sort,  the  wild  cherry  and  the  cherry  of  Saint 
Lucia,  both  frequenters  of  uncultivated  hillsides. 
The  first  bears  fruit  hardly  as  large  as  a  pea,  black, 
round,  and  full  of  a  very  dark  and  rather  bitter 
juice ;  the  second  has  still  smaller  fruit  with  scarcely 
any  pulp  and  uneatable.  No  matter:  with  grafts 
from  a  suitably  chosen  source  they  will  cover  them- 
selves with  the  finest  cherries.  In  like  manner  our 
superb  garden  roses  can  be  grown  on  the  wild  rose 
stock,  the  common  dog  rose  of  the  hedges,  whose 
modest  blossoms  have  only  five  petals  of  a  pale  car- 
nation color  and  are  well-nigh  odorless.  Some- 
times, again,  two  species  of  similar  characteristics 
are  chosen  for  grafting  purposes.  Thus  the  pear 
grafts  well  on  the  quince-tree,  the  fruit  of  the  latter 
being,  after  all,  a  sort  of  big  pear;  the  apricot  can 
be  grafted  on  the  plum ;  the  peach  on  the  plum  and, 
still  better,  on  the  almond,  so  like  the  peach  in  its 
foliage,  its  early  blossoming,  and  the  structure  of 
its  fruit. 

"As  a  curiosity  let  us  mention  the  mixing  of  sev- 
eral kinds  of  fruit  on  the  same  stock.  By  means  of 
grafting  the  same  tree  can  bear,  all  at  one  time,  al- 
monds, apricots,  peaches,  plums,  and  cherries,  be- 
cause these  five  kinds  admit  of  reciprocal  grafting; 
another  tree  may  be  covered  simultaneously  with 


188  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

pears,  quinces,  berries  of  the  mountain  ash,  medlars, 
and  service-berries.  These  are  very  odd  instances, 
certainly,  but  of  no  practical  interest.  It  would  be 
a  waste  of  time  to  dwell  longer  on  them  did  they  not 
teach  a  useful  lesson.  They  demonstrate  that  how- 
ever many  fresh  grafts  are  added  to  a  tree,  the  new- 
comers exert  no  influence  outside  their  own  sphere. 
Whether  offshoots  of  the  tree  itself  or  aliens,  the 
grafts  develop,  blossom,  and  fructify,  each  after  its 
own  kind,  without  contracting  any  of  its  neighbor's 
habits.  Among  the-  curious  phenomena  observed  in 
this  artificial  juxtaposition  of  mutually  independent 
grafts,  we  will  mention  a  pear-tree  on  which  were 
represented,  by  means  of  grafting,  all  the  different 
varieties  of  cultivated  pears.  Sour  or  sweet,  dry 
or  juicy,  large  or  small,  green  or  bright-colored, 
round  or  long,  hard  or  mellow,  each  and  all  ripened 
on  the  same  tree  and  grew  again  year  after  year  with- 
out change,  faithful  to  the  specific  character,  not  of 
the  supporting  tree,  but  of  the  various  grafts  planted 
on  this  common  stock. 

"The  mere  bringing  together  of  analagous  plants 
does  not  suffice  for  the  success  of  the  operation  of 
grafting;  there  must  be  a  considerable  extent  of 
contact  between  those  parts  of  the  graft  and  the 
stock  that  have  the  most  vitality  and  are  conse- 
quently best  fitted  to  coalesce.  This  contact  should 
be  in  the  inner  layers  of  the  bark  and  in  the  seat 
of  plant-growth  situated  between  the  wood  and  the 
bark.  The  vital  activity  of  the  plant,  in  fact,  resides 
especially  in  this  region.  It  is  between  the  wood 


GRAFTING  189 

and  the  bark  that  the  elaborated  sap  descends ;  there 
is  where  new  cells  and  new  fibers  are  organized,  to 
form  on  one  side  a  sheet  of  bark  and  on  the  other 
a  layer  of  wood.  Hence  it  is  there  and  only  there 
that  coalescence  is  possible  between  the  graft  and 
the  stock." 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

GRAFTING 

( Continued ) 

TpHERE  are  three  principal  kinds  of  grafting, 
A  namely:  grafting  by  approach  (also  called  sim- 
ply 'approaching'  or  *  inarching'),  grafting  by  shoots 
or  scions,  and  grafting  by  buds  (commonly  known 
as  'budding').  The  form  given  to  the  two  cut  ends 
that  are  brought  together  and  the  disposition  of  the 
parts  thus  placed  in  contact  give  rise,  in  practice,  to 
numerous  subdivisions  that  need  not  be  mentioned 
here.  We  will  confine  ourselves  to  the  essentials. 

"Grafting  by  approach  is  analagous  to  layering, 
with  this  difference,  that  the  tree  to  be  grafted  takes 
the  place  of  the  soil  that  receives  the  layer.  In  lay- 
ering we  induce  the  growth  of  adventitious  roots  by 
partly  burying  in  the  ground  a  branch  or  shoot  still 
adhering  to  the  stock  that  nourishes  it.  When,  acted 
upon  by  the  soil,  roots  have  started  in  sufficient  num- 
ber, the  shoot  is  gradually  cut  loose  until  at  last  it 
is  quite  severed  from  the  parent  stock.  In  grafting 
by  approach  it  is  also  proposed  to  make  a  branch, 
a  shoot,  a  tree-top,  while  still  united  to  its  own  stem 
or  stock,  take  root,  so  to  speak,  not  in  the  ground, 
but  in  the  substance  of  a  neighboring  tree. 

"Let  us  suppose  that  two  shrubs  are  growing 

190 


GRAFTING  191 

close  together  and  that  we  wish  to  engraft  on  one  of 
them  a  twig  or  shoot  of  the  other.  The  parts  to  be 
placed  in  contact  receive  each  a  longitudinal  gash 
that  penetrates  to  the  marrow,  or  even  deeper,  and 
the  two  gashes  are  made  of  equal  length.  These 
parts  are  then  brought  together,  care  being  taken  to 
make  the  young  and  growing  portions  in  the  one 
exactly  meet  those  in  the  other;  that  is  to  say,  the 
inner  layer  of  bark  in  each,  with  the  channel  trav- 
ersed by  the  elaborated  sap,  is  carefully  fitted  to  the 
corresponding  part  in  its  neighbor.  The  whole  is 
thereupon  made  fast  with  a  ligature,  and  the  two 
wounds  are  left  to  the  slow  operation  of  vital  forces. 
Fed  by  its  own  stem  or  trunk,  from  which  it  is  not 
yet  separated,  the  shoot  to  be  transplanted  mingles 
its  sap  with  the  sap  of  its  neighbor;  on  both  sides 
there  are  new  growths  to  cicatrize  the  wounds,  while 
the  two  parts  gradually  coalesce  until,  sooner  or 
later,  the  graft  becomes  incorporated  with  its  future 
support.  And  now  the  graft  must  be  weaned;  that 
is,  it  must,  little  by  little,  be  deprived  of  the  suste- 
nance furnished  by  its  own  stock.  This  is  accom- 
plished as  in  simple  layering,  by  gradually  cutting 
through  the  shoot  below  the  point  of  union.  As 
soon  as  the  graft  is  thought  to  be  getting  all  its  nour- 
ishment from  the  new  stem,  it  is  completely  severed 
from  the  mother  tree.  This  mode  of  grafting,  the 
most  elementary  of  all,  sometimes  takes  place  acci- 
dentally and  unassisted.  In  a  hedge  or  any  dense 
growth  of  bushes,  if  two  branches  chance  to  come 
into  close  and  prolonged  contact,  there  will  be  at 


192  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

this  point,  first,  a  slight  abrasion  and  then  a  com- 
plete wearing  away  of  the  bark  until  the  two  raw 
surfaces  end,  it  may  be,  in  growing  together.  It 
is  not  improbable  that  natural  occurrences  of  this 
kind  furnished  man  with  his  first  notions  of  graft- 
ing. 

"Grafting  by  approach  is  an  excellent  method  to 
apply  whenever  in  the  arrangement  of  a  fruit-tree's 
branches  there  is  a  vacant  space  that  needs  filling. 
Regular  distribution,  symmetry  of  arrangement,  is 
a  condition  demanded  if  only  to  satisfy  the  eye,  which 
is  always  offended  by  disorder ;  but  there  is  another 
and  still  more  convincing  reason  for  this  regularity. 
The  more  evenly  a  tree's  branches  are  distributed, 
so  that  each  shall  receive  an  equal  share  of  sap,  sun- 
light, and  heat,  so  much  the  more  fruit  will  it  bear. 
Suppose,  then,  there  is  a  lack  of  branches  in  some 
part.  To  fill  this  gap  and  thus  restore  the  tree's 
symmetry,  grafting  by  approach  offers  a  ready 
means.  From  a  branch  near  the  vacant  space  and 
itself  sufficiently  supplied  with  twigs  or  shoots,  one 
of  these  latter,  of  good  length,  is  selected ;  then  it  is 
properly  cut  or  gashed  and  the  gash  is  brought  into 
contact  with  a  similar  gash  at  the  point  where  it  is 
desired  to  start  a  new  growth;  and,  finally,  a  liga- 
ture is  applied  to  hold  the  two  parts  together.  As 
soon  as  coalescence  is  complete  the  graft  is  severed 
below  the  point  of  union,  and  the  lower  section,  after 
being  straightened  up  again,  is  ready  to  serve  once 
more  as  branch  to  the  limb  that  bears  it.  In  this 


GRAFTING  193 

way,  with  no  loss  to  themselves,  the  more  abundant 
branches  furnish  offshoots  to  the  poorer  ones. 

"  Graf  ting  by  means  of  shoots  or  scions  cut  from 
the  parent  stock  at  the  outset  is  analagous  to  slip- 
ping. It  consists  in  transplanting  on  to  a  new  stock 
a  shoot  detached  from  its  mother  branch.  The  most 
common  method  is  cleft-grafting.  It  is  done  in  the 
spring  when  the  buds  begin  to  open.  Shoots  of  the 
preceding  year  are  chosen  for  grafts,  care  being 
taken  to  select  those  that  are  vigorous  and  that  have 
attained  no  later  than  August  the  hard  and  woody 
condition  necessary  for  resistance  to  the  severities 
of  winter.  One  precaution  at  the  very  outset  must 
be  taken.  When  the  graft  is  put  in  place  it  will  be 
of  the  utmost  importance  that  it  shall  find  in  its  new 
position  nourishment  proportionate  to  its  needs.  It 
would  infallibly  perish  if  it  should  prove  to  be  in 
a  more  advanced  state  of  vegetation  than  the  stock 
selected  to  nourish  it.  The  latter,  therefore,  ought 
to  be  rather  ahead  of  than  behind  the  former  in  this 
respect.  To  secure  this  result,  between  one  and 
two  months  before  the  operation  is  to  be  carried 
out  it  is  well  to  cut  the  grafts  and  place  them  in  the 
ground  on  the  north  side  of  a  wall,  where  they  will 
remain  quiescent  while  the  branches  to  which  they 
are  to  be  transferred  will  make  progress  and  their 
sap  will  start. 

"We  will  suppose  there  is  a  worthless  pear-tree 
in  our  garden,  grown  from  a  pip  or  transplanted 
from  its  native  wood,  and  we  propose  to  make  it  bear 


194  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

good  pears.  The  course  to  pursue  is  as  follows. 
We  cut  off  entirely  the  upper  part  of  the  wild  pear 
tree,  trimming  the  cut  with  our  pruning-knife  so 
that  there  are  no  ragged  edges,  since  these  would  not 
scar  over  readily  and  might  become 
the  seat  of  a  far-reaching  decay.  If 
the  trunk  is  of  moderate  size  and  is 
to  receive  but  one  graft,  it  is  cut  a 
little  obliquely  with  a  small  level  sur- 
face on  the  upper  edge,  as  shown  in 
the  picture.  In  the  middle  of  this 
horizontai  f acet  a  split  is  made  to  the 
depth  of  about  six  centimeters.  That  done,  we  take 
one  of  the  grafts  set  aside  as  already  indicated,  and 
we  cut  it  so  as  to  leave  only  two  or  three  buds,  of 
which  the  topmost  one  should  be  at  the  tip  of  the 
branch.  Then,  just  under  the  lowest  bud  we  whittle 
the  end  of  the  graft  into  the  shape  of  a  knife-blade, 
letting  the  bud  stand  just  above  the  back  or  dull  edge 
of  the  blade.  For  greater  stability  when  the  graft  is 
put  in  place,  a  narrow  inverted  ledge  is  cut  at  the 
top  of  the  blade  on  both  sides.  A  glance  at  the  pic- 
ture will  show  you  all  these  little  details.  Finally, 
the  graft  is  slipped  into  the  cleft  of  the  stock,  bark 
exactly  meeting  bark,  wood  meeting  wood.  The 
whole  is  brought  tightly  together  by  binding,  and 
the  wounds  are  covered  with  grafting  mastic,  which 
may  be  bought  already  prepared.  If  this  mastic  is 
lacking  we  can  use  what  is  known  in  the  country  as 
Saint  Fiacre's  ointment,  a  sort  of  paste  made  of 
clay,  or  rather  a  mixture  of  clay  and  cows'  dung, 


GRAFTING  195 

the  fibrous  nature  of  the  latter  preventing  the  former 
from  cracking.  A  winding  of  rags  holds  the  oint- 
ment in  place.  Thus  wound,  the  stump  does  not 
suffer  from  exposure  to  the  air,  which  would  dry  it 
up.  In  course  of  time  the  wounds  cicatrize,  and 
the  bark  and  wood  of  the  graft  coalesce  with  the 
bark  and  wood  of  the  severed  trunk.  Finally  the 
buds  of  the  graft,  nourished  by  the  stock,  develop 
into  branches  and  at  the  end  of  a  few  years  the  top 
of  the  wild  pear  tree  is  replaced  by  that  of  a  culti- 
vated pear  tree  bearing  pears  equal  to  those  of  the 
tree  that  furnished  the  graft. 

"The  operation  of  cutting  back  a  branch  or  trunk 
to  receive  the  graft  always  promotes  the  growth  of 
numerous  buds:  What  is  to  be  done  with  the  shoots 
that  spring  from  these!  Evidently  they  must  be 
suppressed,  for  they  would  appropriate,  to  no  good 
end,  the  sap  intended  for  the  graft.  Nevertheless 
the  suppression  must  be  done  cautiously.  Let  us 
not  forget  that  what  primarily  causes  the  sap  to 
ascend  is  the  evaporation  of  moisture  from  the 
leaves.  As  long  as  the  graft  has  not  opened  its 
buds  and  spread  its  leaves,  it  is  well  to  let  the  young 
shoots  of  the  stock  remain  untouched.  They  act  as 
helpers,  in  that  their  foliage  draws  upward  the 
juices  extracted  from  the  soil  by  the  roots ;  so  that, 
far  from  having  an  injurious  effect  at  this  time,  their 
presence  is  most  useful.  But  the  day  will  come  when 
the  graft  alone  will  suffice  for  this  work  of  pumping 
up  the  sap,  and  then  it  is  best  to  get  rid  of  these 
messmates  which,  of  heartier  appetite  than  the  graft, 


196  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

would  soon  starve  it  out.  First  the  lower  shoots  of 
the  stock  are  suppressed,  then  gradually  those  higher 
up,  care  being  taken  not  to  destroy  the  top  ones  un- 
til the  graft  has  developed  shoots  two  or  three  deci- 
meters long. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

GRAFTING 
(Concluded) 

r  I  ^HE  part  of  a  plant  or  tree  above  ground  and 
JL  the  part  under  ground  are  mutually  dependent, 
the  development  of  one  implying  a  corresponding 
development  in  the  other.  If  there  is  a  superabun- 
dance of  foliage,  the  roots  will  be  unable  to  furnish  it 
sufficient  nourishment ;  on  the  other  hand,  if  the  roots 
are  unduly  vigorous,  there  will  be  too  much  sap  for 
the  foliage — an  excess  of  nourishment  which,  there 
being  no  use  for  it,  will  encumber  the  plant  and  be  in- 
jurious to  it.  Hence  if  the  trunk  to  be  grafted  is 
strong  it  must  have  several  grafts,  in  order  that  the 
number  of  buds  to  be  nourished  may  be  in  right  pro- 
portion to  the  number  of  nourishing  roots. 

"To  this  end  the  trunk  is  cut,  not  obliquely  as  for 
a  single  graft,  but  horizontally.  Then  it  is  split  all 
the  way  across,  following  a  line  that  passes  through 
the  central  pith,  and  two  grafts  are  implanted  in 
the  cleft,  one  at  each  end.  It  is  evident  that  not 
more  than  two  can  be  placed  in  the  same  cleft,  be- 
cause the  bark  of  the  graft  must  of  necessity  come 
in  contact  with  the  bark  of  the  stock  to  insure  inter- 
communication and  coalescence  between  the  sap- 
canals  of  the  two.  If  the  size  of  the  stock  requires 

197 


198  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

more  than  two  grafts,  instead  of  splitting  the  trunk 
diametrically  several  times,  it  is  preferable  to  make 
lateral  clefts  which,  leaving  the  center  untouched, 
cause  less  danger  to  the  solidity  of  the  stock. 

"Recourse  can  also  be  had  to  the  following  method, 
in  which  no  clefts  whatever  are  called  for,  clefts  be- 
ing difficult  to  cicatrize  when  the  wood  is  old.  The 
grafts  are  cut  like  the  mouthpiece  of  a  flute ;  that  is 
to  say,  at  the  base  half  is  taken  off  lengthwise  while 
the  other  half  is  left,  but  is  whittled  down,  thinner 
and  thinner  toward  the  end,  much  like  a  flute's 
mouthpiece.  Thus  shaped,  the  grafts  are  inserted 
between  the  wood  and  the  bark  of  the  stock,  an  opera- 
tion facilitated  by  the  flow  of  sap  in  the  spring,  when 
the  bark  separates  easily  from  the  wood.  If  there 
is  danger  of  tearing  the  bark  under  the  strain  of 
the  graft  acting  as  a  wedge,  a  slight  incision  is  made 
in  the  bark  to  give  it  the  play  it  needs.  In  this  way 
the  circumference  of  the  stock  receives  the  number 
of  grafts  deemed  necessary.  It  only  remains  now 
to  bind  the  whole  securely  and  cover  the  wounds 
with  mastic.  This  method  is  called  crown-grafting, 
because  the  grafts  are  arranged  in  a  crown  on  the 
circumference  of  the  cross-section. 

"Grafting  by  buds  corresponds  to  that  variety  of 
slipping  in  which  buds,  each  one  by  itself  on  a  small 
fragment  of  the  branch,  are  set  into  the  ground.  It 
consists  in  transplanting  on  the  stock  a  simple  bud 
with  the  bit  of  bark  that  bears  it.  It  is  the  method 
most  commonly  employed.  According  to  the  time 
of  year  when  the  operation  is  undertaken,  the  graft 


GRAFTING  199 

is  called  an  active  bud  or  a  dormant  bud.  In  the 
first  case  the  grafting  is  done  in  the  spring,  when 
nature  is  awaking  from  her  winter's  sleep,  so  that 
the  eye  or  bud  implanted  in  the  stock  coalesces  with 
it  and  very  soon  develops  into  a  young  shoot.  In 
the  second  instance  the  bud  is  set  in  place  some 


Budding 

time  in  July  or  August,  at  the  period  of  the  au- 
tumnal sap,  so  that  it  lies  dormant  or,  in  other  words, 
remains  stationary  during  the  following  autumn  and 
winter,  after  uniting  with  the  stock. 

"The  implement  here  required  is  the  grafting- 
knife,  furnished  at  one  end  with  a  very  sharp  blade, 
and  at  the  other  with  a  short  spatula  of  bone  or  very 
hard  wood.  The  first  thing  to  do  is  to  remove  the 
bud  to  be  transplanted.  On  a  branch  in  which  the 
sap  is  working  we  make  with  the  grafting-knife  a 


200  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

transverse  cut  above  the  bud  and  another  below; 
then,  holding  the  branch  in  one  hand  and  the  graft- 
ing-knife in  the  other,  as  the  picture  shows,  we  re- 
move the  strip  of  bark  lying  between  these  two  cuts 
and  delimited  laterally  by  the  line  gg'g"  and  its 
opposite,  in  figure  F.  This  strip,  which  we  call  the 
shield,  is  shown  by  itself  in  H.  The  leaf  that  shel- 
tered the  bud  in  its  axil  has  been  removed,  but  the 
base  of  the  stem  of  this  leaf  has  been  left  and  will 
be  useful  later  for  taking  hold  of  the  shield  and 
handling  it  more  conveniently.  The  shield  must  be 
cut  away  without  any  tearing  and  in  such  a  manner 
that  no  sap-wood  is  left  clinging  to  the  bark.  The 
latter  must  be  perfectly  intact,  especially  in  its  inner 
layers,  the  seat  of  vital  activities.  Finally,  the  bud 
should  have  its  proper  complement  of  young,  green- 
ish wood,  which  constitutes  the  germ,  the  very  heart 
of  the  bud.  Should  this  germ  be  removed  by  un- 
skilful manipulation,  the  bud  would  have  to  be 
thrown  away,  for  the  graft  would  surely  fail. 

"The  next  step  is  to  make  a  double  incision  in 
the  bark  in  the  shape  of  a  T,  penetrating  as  far  as 
the  wood  but  without  injuring  it.  With  the  spatula 
of  the  grafting-knife  the  two  lips  of  the  wound  are 
raised  a  little  while  the  bud  with  its  shield  is  taken 
up  by  the  piece  of  leaf-stem  attached  to  it  and  in- 
serted between  the  bark  and  the  wood.  All  that 
now  remains  to  be  done  is  to  draw  the  lips  of  the 
little  wound  together  and  bind  the  whole  with  some 
sort  of  material  sufficiently  pliant  and  elastic  not 
to  compress  and  finally  strangle  the  bud  as  it  de- 


GRAFTING  201 

velops.  A  rush,  a  slender  thong  made  of  a  long  and 
flexible  grass-blade,  or,  better  still,  a  piece  of  woolen 
yarn  is  well  suited  to  the  purpose.  But  if  despite 
all  precautions  the  ligature  should  after  a  while 
prove  too  tight  on  account  of  the  swelling  of  the 
graft,  it  would  be  necessary  to  loosen  it  without  de- 
lay. As  soon  as  the  graft  has  'taken,*  as  we  say, 
the  young  shoots  starting  out  on  the  stock  are  grad- 
ually suppressed  in  the  cautious  manner  prescribed 
for  cleft-grafting. 

"When  the  stock  is  too  small  to  receive  a  bud  in 
the  usual  manner,  the  following  expedient  is  resorted 
to.  From  a  shoot  of  about  the  same  size  as  the 
stock  a  rectangular  strip  of  bark  with  bud  attached 
is  cut  with  four  incisions  of  the  grafting-knife.  This 
strip  is  immediately  laid  upon  the  stock  to  serve 
as  a  pattern  while  the  point  of  the  knife  is  passed 
all  around  it.  In  this  way  there  is. cut  from  the 
stock  a  strip  of  bark  having  exactly  the  same  shape 
and  size  as  the  pattern,  which  latter  is  thereupon 
inserted  in  the  vacant  place  and  made  fast  there  by 
a  ligature.  This  process  may  not  inappropriately 
be  called  veneering. 

"In  flute-grafting  the  bark  both  above  and  below 
the  bud  is  cut  transversely  all  around  the  stem,  and 
then  another  cut  is  made  lengthwise  between  these 
two  slashes.  A  cylinder  of  bark  may  thus  be  peeled 
off  in  one  piece.  From  the  stock,  which  should 
match  this  cylinder  in  size,  a  similar  cylinder  is 
removed  and  its  place  taken  by  the  other  one  bear- 
ing the  bud  we  wish  to  transplant." 


CHAPTER  XL 

BOTATION    OF   CROPS 

THEY  are  eating  dinner  at  the  farm.  A  large 
platter  of  pork  cutlets  and  beans  is  smoking 
in  the  center  of  the  table.  Every  one  has  been 
served.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  see  these  good  people 
eat,  they  have  such  hearty  appetites.  Jacques,  the 
big  ox-driver,  is  the  first  to  finish.  He  throws  his 
bone  away.  Azor  is  there  to  seize  it.  He  lies  flat 
on  his  stomach  and  takes  the  bone  in  his  fore  paws. 
Hear  him  bite  on  his  hard  pittance.  How  it  cracks ! 
Let  any  one  beware  of  teasing  Azor  now.  An  angry 
growl  and  a  baring  of  his  four  formidable  canine 
teeth  would  warn  the  rash  intruder  to  have  done 
with  his  joking  at  once,  for  if  not — well,  I  will  not 
be  responsible  for  the  consequences.  Azor  is  not 
a  surly  dog;  far  from  it;  but  he  is  well  within  his 
rights  when  he  brooks  no  nonsense  at  his  meals. 
He  has  done  his  duty  most  valiantly  as  a  dog.  Night 
before  last  some  wolves  were  prowling  about  the 
sheep-fold,  and  he  drove  them  off.  Let  Azor  gnaw 
his  bone  in  peace. 

Ha,  there!  The  big  tortoise-shell  cat,  Master 
Minet,  is  otherwise  minded.  He  draws  near,  hair 
erect,  tail  as  large  around  as  your  arm,  to  try  to 
frighten  Azor  and  rob  him  of  his  allowance,  Azor, 


ROTATION  OF  CROPS  203 

without  dropping  the  bone,  gives  a  low  growl  and 
lifts  one  paw.  That  is  enough,  the  cat  flees.  So, 
my  bold  Minet,  what  were  you  after  here  I  The  bone 
is  not  for  you ;  your  teeth  are  not  strong  enough  to 
bite  it.  Go  away!  Martha  is  calling  you  to  give 
you  some  bread  soaked  in  gravy.  That  will  suit 
you  better  than  a  bone  as  hard  as  a  stone. 

Ah,  here  come  some  more  guests.  The  door 
stands  open  and  in  come  the  hens  from  the  poultry- 
yard.  Tap,  tap,  tap,  tap;  they  peck  the  crumbs 
fallen  from  the  table.  Azor  has  no  use  for  such 
diet — tiny  morsels  much  too  small  for  him ;  nor  does 
the  cat  want  them  either,  they  are  too  floury.  But 
the  hens  feast  on  them. 

And  all,  human  beings,  dog,  cat,  hens,  dine  at  the 
same  time ;  only  each  must  make  the  best  of  what  the 
others  cannot  use.  Azor  is  content  with  the  bone 
that  big  Jacques  threw  away ;  the  cat  is  satisfied  with 
a  little  bread  soaked  in  gravy,  a  dish  quite  inade- 
quate to  Azor 's  needs ;  the  hens  pick  up  the  crumbs 
disdained  by  Jacques,  Azor,  and  the  cat.  Martha, 
it  seems,  had  prepared  dinner  only  for  the  farm 
people,  and  behold,  by  utilizing  the  scraps  that  are 
worthless  to  some,  many  others  join  in  the  midday 
meal.  From  the  scraps  disdained  by  man  the  dog 
will  gain  strength  to  defend  the  flock;  from  those 
rejected  by  the  dog  the  cat  will  acquire  keen  eye- 
sight and  sharp  claws  to  see  and  to  seize  the  mouse ; 
from  what  is  of  no  value  to  the  cat  the  hens  will 
make  eggs;  and  everything,  absolutely  everything, 
will  go  to  the  profit  of  the  farm. 


204  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

11  Agriculture  in  its  turn,"  remarked  Uncle  Paul, 
turning  to  account  this  homely  illustration  in  do- 
mestic economy,  "prepares  dinner  for  the  crops  in 
its  own  peculiar  manner.  It  spreads  the  ground 
with  manure,  that  fertile  dressing  so  relished  by 
growing  plants.  The  table  is  set,  or  in  other  words 
the  field  is  ready,  well  plowed  and  harrowed,  and  well 
manured.  Whom  shall  we  call  first  to  the  table,  for 
it  is  plain  we  cannot  invite  all  at  once.  Whom  shall 
we  call  first?  It  shall  be  wheat,  let  us  say,  a  plant 
with  tastes  hard  to  please,  but  one  that  in  return 
gives  us  bread.  So  wheat  is  sown.  In  this  soil,  full 
of  all  sorts  of  good  things,  it  cannot  fail  to  thrive, 
however  unfavorable  the  season  may  be.  It  will  se- 
lect what  suits  it  best  and  leave  the  rest. 

"Now  that  is  done.  The  harvest  is  in,  and  it 
handsomely  comes  up  to  our  hopes.  The  wheat  has 
converted  into  magnificent  grain  the  fertilizer  put 
into  the  ground.  Out  of  decay  it  has  created  nour- 
ishment. Surely  it  has  well  acquitted  itself  of  its 
charge.  It  has  made  a  clean  sweep :  all  that  could  be 
turned  into  wheat  it  has  appropriated,  and  there 
remains  nothing  further  to  be  done.  What  would 
happen,  then,  if  wheat  were  sown  again  in  the  same 
field?  Exactly  the  same  thing  that  would  happen 
to  Simon  if  he  had  nothing  to  eat  but  the  bone  that 
Jacques  threw  away.  He  would  die  of  hunger.  Si- 
mon must  have  man's  food,  wheat  must  have  wheat's 
food.  So  if  the  first  crop  has  exhausted  the  supply 
of  material  for  making  wheat,  how  can  you  expect 
to  raise  a  second  crop?  Evidently  that  is  asking 


ROTATION  OF  CROPS  205 

the  impossible;  it  is  running  the  risk  of  reaping 
only  a  very  mediocre  harvest  or  even  none  at  all. 
Therefore  it  is  the  rule  not  to  sow  wheat  twice  in 
succession  in  the  same  field.  And  what  is  true  of 
wheat  is  true  also  of  all  other  crops.  Where  a 
plant  has  prospered  one  year,  the  same  plant  will 
not  do  well  the  second  year,  because  the  ingredients 
required  by  this  plant  are  more  or  less  exhausted. 
It  is  foolish  to  invite  guests  to  a  table  that  is  stripped 
bare. 

"If  the  table  were  spread  again,  if  more  fertilizer 
were  added  to  the  soil,  that  would  be  quite  a  differ- 
ent matter,  and  wheat  would  grow  as  well  as  it  did 
the  first  time.  But  such  a  procedure  would  be  bad 
management,  for  the  very  utmost  should  be  made 
of  one  meal.  Before  further  expenditure  in  the  way 
of  fertilizer  let  us  exhaust  the  virtue  of  the  fertilizer 
already  applied.  Azor  dined  well  on  what  Jacques 
discarded;  the  hens  were  well  fed  with  what  Azor 
and  the  cat  left.  Let  us  take  an  example  from  this 
succession  of  eaters  who  utilize  each  in  his  own  way 
the  remnants  worthless  to  the  others.  The  wheat 
has  exhausted,  or  nearly  exhausted,  all  that  is  suit- 
able for  wheat;  but  just  as  Jacques  the  ox-driver 
left  the  bone,  it  has  left  in  the  soil  a  good  many 
ingredients  that  make  excellent  food  for  other  crops. 
In  order,  therefore,  to  utilize  to  the  last  ounce  the 
first  spreading  of  fertilizer,  we  must  invite  to  the 
repast  a  guest  of  different  tastes.  This  guest  may 
be,  for  example,  the  potato.  In  soil  that  would  have 
furnished  but  starvation  diet  for  wheat  the  potato 


206  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

will  find  quite  enough  to  live  on,  its  tastes  not  being 
the  same  as  the  cereal's. 

"Thus  we  have  two  successive  crops  for  one  coat- 
ing of  manure:  we  have  sacks  of  potatoes  with  no 
additional  outlay  in  fertilizer.  Is  that  all?  Not 
yet.  After  the  wheat  and  the  potatoes  there  is,  to  be 
sure,  but  meager  nourishment  left  in  the  upper  layer 
of  the  soil;  but  in  the  lower  layers  there  remains 
the  part  of  the  fertilizer  that  the  rain  has  washed 
down  and  dissolved  and  that  the  short  roots  of  the 
preceding  crops  could  not  reach.  To  utilize  this  un- 
derlying matter  and  bring  it  up  again  to  the  sur- 
face in  the  form  of  forage  let  us  now  sow  a  plant 
with  vigorous  roots,  such  as  clover,  sainfoin,  or, 
still  better,  lucerne,  which  will  penetrate  deeper. 
And  so  we  get  our  third  crop. 

"After  clover  we  can  try  a  fourth  crop,  of  a  differ- 
ent kind ;  but  it  is  evident  that  as  the  guests  succeed 
one  another  at  the  same  table  the  remnants  become 
more  and  more  scanty  and  difficult  to  utilize.  Ac- 
cordingly we  must  choose  a  hardy  plant  and  one  that 
is  content  with  little.  Finally  a  time  will  come,  and 
at  no  very  distant  date,  when  the  board  will  be  bare : 
the  coating  of  manure  will  have  given  up  its  last 
particle  of  nutritious  matter.  Then  the  table  must 
be  garnished  afresh,  the  field  fertilized  anew  before 
beginning  again  with  the  same  crops  or  attempting 
others.  Let  us  demand  no  more.  You  understand, 
my  young  friends,  that  in  order  to  utilize  to  the  ut- 
most this  precious  substance  that  gives  us  every 
kind  of  food,  such  as  bread,  vegetables,  forage,  meat, 


ROTATION  OF  CROPS  207 

fruit,  dairy  products — to  make  the  very  best  use  of 
this  we  must,  instead  of  raising  the  same  crop  in 
the  same  field  year  after  year,  adopt  the  plan  of 
varying  our  crops,  changing  from  one  of  one  kind 
to  another  of  a  different  character,  so  that  what 
earlier  plantings  have  left  in  the  soil  may  be  turned 
to  account  by  later  ones.  This  succession  of  differ- 
ent sorts  of  farm  produce  is  called  rotation  of 


CHAPTER  XLI 

ROTATION    OF   CROPS 
(Continued) 

soil  is  spoken  of  as  worn  out  and  need- 
ing  rest,  the  speaker  uses  a  figure  of  speech 
meaning  that  the  soil  has  been  exhausted  by  the 
crops  it  has  borne.  The  crops  do  indeed  take  from 
the  land  a  great  quantity  of  substances  necessary  for 
plant-life ;  and  when  these  substances  are  no  longer 
present  in  sufficient  amount,  the  soil  refuses  to  pro- 
duce; it  is  exhausted.  To  restore  its  original  fer- 
tility would  require  a  large  outlay  in  fertilizer  and 
hence  it  is  often  more  advantageous  to  accomplish 
this  object  by  one  of  the  following  methods. 

"Sometimes  the  land  is  allowed  to  lie  fallow;  that 
is  to  say,  it  is  left  to  itself  without  any  care  what- 
ever for  whole  years.  Weeds  spring  up  freely,  and 
at  the  same  time  water,  air,  and  frost  act  on  the  soil, 
disintegrating  and  mellowing  it  and  inducing  the 
formation  of  certain  substances  necessary  to  vege- 
tation. The  weeds  are  converted  into  mold,  and 
finally  the  land,  rested  and  recuperated,  is  ready  to 
bear  a  new  crop.  Restoration  by  this  process  is 
very  slow,  taking  several  years,  and  hence  it  is  cus- 
tomary to  shorten  the  period  of  waiting  by  working 
the  soil  and  even  manuring  it,  although  it  may  not 


ROTATION  OF  CROPS  209 

yet  be  the  intention  to  sow  any  seed.  In  these  cir- 
cumstances the  land  is  called  fallow  land. 

' '  There  is,  however,  one  way  to  obtain  an  uninter- 
rupted succession  of  crops  from  the  same  land  un- 
less the  soil  is  very  poor.  All  plants  derive  their 
nourishment  from  the  soil  and  the  atmosphere; 
but  some  take  more  from  the  atmosphere,  others 
from  the  soil.  The  plants  that  get  their  sustenance 
chiefly  from  the  air  are  those  that  have  luxuriant 
foliage.  The  potato  is  one  of  these.  You  know 
that  it  is  through  their  leaves  that  plants  obtain  the 
carbonic  acid  gas  diffused  in  the  air.  The  greater 
the  spread  of  foliage,  the  more  abundant  will  this 
absorption  be.  The  plants  that  depend  almost 
wholly  on  the  soil  are  those  with  only  a  few  small, 
slender  leaves,  thus  taking  but  little  carbonic  acid 
gas  from  the  air.  Such  is  wheat. 

"Moreover,  from  the  potato  plant  we  take  only 
the  tubers,  which  form  but  a  small  part  of  the  whole, 
and  we  turn  under  the  stalks  and  leaves,  which  are 
thereupon  converted  into  humus.  Thus  the  potato 
has  the  property  of  enriching  the  soil  at  the  expense 
of  the  atmosphere,  and  it  gives  back  more  than  it 
takes.  It  is,  then,  one  of  the  enriching  rather  than 
impoverishing  plants  in  respect  to  its  action  on  the 
soil.  Cereals,  on  the  contrary,  are  utilized  by  the 
harvester  both  as  to  seed  and  haulm,  nothing  but 
the  meager  roots  being  left  in  the  ground ;  and  as,  on 
account  of  their  very  scanty  foliage,  cereals  derive 
almost  their  entire  sustenance  from  the  soil,  they 
take  from  it  much  more  than  they  give  back  to  it. 


210  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

They  accordingly  belong  to  the  class  of  plants  that 
impoverish  rather  than  enrich  the  soil  in  which 
they  grow. 

"It  is  impossible,  thus,  except  by  a  ruinous  ex- 
penditure of  fertilizer,  to  raise  a  crop  of  grain  every 
year  on  the  same  land.  But  if  we  should  let  pota- 
toes succeed  wheat,  and  wheat  succeed  potatoes, 
what  would  be  the  result?  The  latter  crop,  deriv- 
ing a  large  part  of  its  nourishment  from  the  air, 
would  flourish  in  soil  comparatively  exhausted  by 
wheat;  and  on  having  its  leaves  and  stalks  turned 
under  it  would  give  back  to  the  soil  a  part  of  its 
former  fertility.  Wheat  could  then  be  successfully 
raised  again  on  the  same  land. 

"This  practice  of  raising  successively  on  the  same 
land  different  crops  as  little  harmful  to  one  another 
as  possible  and  capable  of  utilizing  to  the  utmost 
the  dressing  put  on  to  the  land,  is  nothing  but  that 
very  rotation  of  crops  that  I  have  already  told  you 
something  about.  Its  purpose  is  to  economize  fer- 
tilizer and  at  the  same  time  to  secure  an  uninter- 
rupted succession  of  crops.  The  underlying  prin- 
ciple consists  in  making  an  enriching  plant  succeed 
an  impoverishing  one;  that  is  to  say,  a  plant  with 
luxuriant  foliage  is  made  to  succeed  one  with  scanty 
foliage.  The  chief  enriching  plants  are  clover,  lu- 
cerne, sainfoin,  potatoes,  turnips,  and  beets. 
Cereals,  on  the  contrary,  are  all  impoverishing 
plants.  It  is  a  general  custom  to  raise  on  the  same 
land  a  more  or  less  extended  series  of  different 
crops,  the  series  running  four,  five,  or  six  years,  or 


ROTATION  OF  CROPS  211 

even  longer,  after  which  it  begins  over  again  in  the 
same  order.  This  rotation  of  crops  is  designated 
according  to  the  number  of  years  the  series  covers, 
as  for  instance  a  five-year  or  a  six-year  rotation.  A 
six-year  rotation  might  run,  we  will  say,  somewhat 
as  follows : 

1st  year — potatoes — enriching  crop. 
2nd  year — wheat — impoverishing  crop. 
3rd  year — clover — enriching  crop. 
4th  year — wheat — impoverishing  crop. 
5th  year — sainfoin — enriching  crop. 
6th  year — oats — impoverishing  crop. 

"Let  us  examine  in  detail  this  series  that  we  have 
taken  as  an  example.  The  first  year  the  soil  is  thor- 
oughly manured.  One  of  the  effects  of  manuring  is 
to  start  a  great  crop  of  weeds  that  would  infest  the 
land  and  impoverish  the  crop  were  they  not  care- 
fully removed.  Hence  the  necessity  of  weeding.  To 
weed  a  piece  of  ground  is  to  destroy  the  weeds  either 
by  hand  or  with  some  implement.  But  it  is  not  every 
crop  that  admits  of  weeding:  the  plants  must  be  a 
certain  distance  apart,  as  otherwise  they  will  be 
trampled  under  foot,  cut  off,  or  uprooted  in  the 
weeding  process.  Wheat  cannot  be  weeded,  its  stalks 
are  too  close  together;  but  potatoes  are  far  enough 
apart  for  weeding  without  difficulty.  Now,  weed- 
ing destroys  all  useless,  injurious  grasses  and  other 
unwelcome  intruders;  their  future  reappearance  is 
prevented  by  pulling  them  up  before  their  seeds 


212  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

ripen,  and  thus  at  last  the  ground  is  cleaned  and 
made  ready  for  a  choice  crop.  This  will  explain  to 
you  the  great  advantage  of  letting  the  potato  or  some 
other  crop  that  can  be  weeded  take  precedence  of 
the  cereals. 

"The  second  year  comes  wheat.  Cleaned  by  the 
tillage  that  has  gone  before,  the  ground  is  no  longer 
covered  with  grass  and  weeds.  Nor  does  it  need 
fresh  manure,  for  if  the  potatoes  have  consumed 
certain  elements  in  the  soil,  these  are  not  exactly 
the  same  that  wheat  requires ;  and,  furthermore,  the 
dead  plants,  turned  under  and  reduced  to  vegetable 
mold,  compensate  by  what  they  have  derived  from 
the  atmosphere  for  what  the  tubers  may  have  taken 
from  the  soil.  Wheat  is  therefore  just  the  crop  to 
raise  now. 

"But  it  would  be  much  against  one's  interest  to 
exact  from  the  soil  another  crop  of  wheat  the  third 
year.  Exhausted  by  the  grain  it  has  just  produced, 
the  soil  would  yield  but  a  scanty  harvest  unless  it 
were  freshly  manured,  a  process  that  would  make 
of  the  whole  operation,  not  a  piece  of  farming,  but 
an  example  of  gardening,  and  would  also  entail  too 
great  expense.  For  that  reason  the  third  year  is 
devoted  to  the  raising  of  an  enriching  crop,  such  as 
clover.  After  furnishing  a  supply  of  fodder,  what 
is  left  of  the  clover  is  turned  under,  and  all  its  rem- 
nants of  roots,  stems,  and  leaves  are  reduced  to 
mold,  which  renders  the  soil  fit  for  another  wheat 
harvest  the  fourth  year.  A  third  enriching  crop 
to  be  turned  under  after  the  final  mowing,  is  like- 


ROTATION  OF  CROPS  213 

wise  needed  for  the  fifth  year;  and  this  crop  may 
be  sainfoin.  At  the  end  of  the  series  comes  another 
cereal,  oats,  for  example.  The  rotation  is  now  com- 
plete, and  the  program  begins  all  over  again. 

"Crop-rotation  is  capable  of  innumerable  varia- 
tions, and  the  series  may  be  longer  or  shorter,  but 
there  should  be  the  slightest  possible  departure 
from  the  rule  that  a  cereal  crop  ought  always  to 
be  preceded  by  some  crop  that  enriches  the  soil." 


CHAPTER  XLII 

LAND-DRAINAGE 

IN  the  bottom  of  a  flower-pot  you  will  find  a  small 
round  hole.  Over  this  hole  it  is  customary  to 
lay  a  bit  of  broken  tile,  and  on  this,  if  the  plant  to 
occupy  the  pot  is  delicate,  a  few  small  pebbles.  This 
done,  the  pot  is  filled  with  vegetable  mold.  Why 
this  hole,  this  bit  of  tile,  these  pebbles?  That  is 
what  we  are  now  about  to  consider. 

1  'Water  is  absolutely  indispensable  to  plants,  since 
it  is  the  medium  that  dissolves  the  various  nutritive 
ingredients  of  the  soil  and  thus  renders  them  ca- 
pable of  assimilation  by  the  roots.  Accordingly  the 
soil  penetrated  by  these  roots  must  be  constantly 
supplied  with  sufficient  moisture  either  by  rainfall 
or  by  artificial  irrigation.  But  air  is  not  less  in- 
dispensable. It  disinfects  the  soil  and  by  causing 
slow  combustion  of  the  humus  gives  rise  to  a  slight 
but  uninterrupted  liberation  of  carbonic  acid  gas, 
one  of  the  nutritive  substances  required  by  vegeta- 
tion. Should  the  roots  be  cut  off  from  this  life- 
giving  agency,  they  would  languish  and  finally  de- 
cay. Thus  it  is  that  if  vegetation  is  to  thrive  the 
soil  in  which  it  grows  must  have  at  the  same  time 
both  air  and  water.  But  if  the  bottom  of  the  flower- 
pot has  no  opening,  or  if  its  opening  is  stopped  up, 

214 


LAND-DRAINAGE  215 

the  water  from  the  watering-can  will  not  flow 
through,  nor  will  there  be  any  air  admitted  from 
below,  and  for  lack  of  this  the  roots  will  decay.  On 
the  other  hand,  if  the  water,  after  saturating  the 
earth,  runs  out  freely  by  the  hole  in  the  bottom  of 
the  pot,  the  damp  soil  will  become  a  sort  of  sponge 
to  which  the  air  will  have  access  from  all  sides, 
and  the  plant  will  thrive. 

"This  reasoning  applies  to  the  most  extensive 
agricultural  operations  as  well  as  to  the  care  of  a 
potted  plant.  After  water  has  soaked  into  the 
ground  it  should  find  some  channel  to  carry  it  off; 
otherwise  the  roots  will  decay  for  want  of  air.  That 
is  why  clayey  soils,  which  retain  water  when  they 
are  once  saturated,  are  unsuited  to  agriculture,  while 
light  soils,  having  sand  mixed  with  the  clay  and 
thus  readily  allowing  the  water  to  drain  off,  are  well 
adapted  to  it.  For  the  same-  reason,  again,  a  sandy 
subsoil  accelerates  vegetation,  and  a  clayey  subsoil 
retards  it.  A  sandy  subsoil  offers  the  same  advan- 
tage as  a  flower-pot  open  at  the  bottom,  whereas  a 
clayey  subsoil  is  like  a  flower-pot  closed  at  the  bot- 
tom. In  the  first  case  the  surplus  of  water  drains 
off  and  the  air  has  free  access;  in  the  second  the 
superabundant  moisture  finds  no  outlet  and  the  air 
cannot  reach  the  roots. 

"Now  let  us  suppose  we  have  a  marshy  soil  to 
deal  with.  Because  of  the  stagnant  water  either  on 
the  surface  or  a  little  below  it  nothing  can  grow  on 
this  piece  of  ground  except  rushes  or  other  hardy 
plants  designed  by  nature  for  this  kind  of  soil.  Ac- 


216  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

cordingly  we  proceed  to  dig  a  number  of  small 
ditches,  of  a  depth  somewhat  greater  than  that  at- 
tained by  plant-roots,  and  we  fill  the  bottom  of  these 
ditches  with  small  stones,  on  which  we  finally  throw 
back  the  earth  we  have  removed.  These  under- 
ground ditches  are  suitably  inclined,  and  all  empty 
at  the  lower  end  into  a  main  canal.  The  water  sat- 
urating the  soil  collects  in  these  ditches,  filters 
through  the  layer  of  pebbles,  and  empties  into  the 
main  canal,  which  carries  it  off  to  some  river  or 
other  stream.  Our  marshy  soil  is  now  like  the  pot- 
ful  of  earth  with  a  hole  at  the  bottom,  the  bit  of 
broken  tile,  and  layer  of  little  pebbles:  the  air  has 
free  access  and  brings  fertility  with  it.  This  opera- 
tion of  ours  is  called  drainage,  a  word  formed  from 
*  drain,'  which  is  both  a  verb  and  a  noun.  In  the 
latter  sense  we  apply  it  to  the  narrow  ditch  dug  for 
carrying  off  superfluous  water. 

"A  drainage  system  like  that  just  described  is 
the  simplest  possible,  but  there  is  one  serious  objec- 
tion to  it:  the  layer  of  small  stones  soon  becomes 
clogged  with  soil  washed  down  by  the  water,  and 
the  latter  can  no  longer  run  off.  Hence  it  is  cus- 
tomary to  use  fagots  instead  of  stones,  since  they 
offer  less  obstruction.  But  still  better  results  are 
obtained  with  earthenware  conduits  laid  in  the 
ditches.  Sometimes  these  conduits  take  the  form 
of  drain-tiles  such  as  are  used  on  roofs,  and  they 
rest  on  sills  or  ground-pieces  of  the  same  material ; 
or,  again,  they  may  be  tubular  in  form,  the  succes- 
sive sections  loosely  fitted  together  so  that  the  water 


LAND-DRAINAGE  217 

to  be  carried  off  may  enter  where  the  sections  join. 

"The  effect  of  drainage  is  not  merely  to  carry  off 
the  superfluous  water  and  thus  promote  the  aeration 
of  the  soil  to  the  depth  reached  by  the  roots ;  it  also 
keeps  the  soil  cool  and  moist  by  the  constant  pres- 
ence of  water  in  the  drainage  ditches  or  pipes. 
When  a  heap  of  sand  is  watered  at  its  base,  the  mois- 
ture is  seen  to  mount  higher  and  higher  until  it 
reaches  the  top.  In  like  manner  the  water  collected 
in  our  drainage  ditches  soaks  into  the  upper  soil  in 
a  dry  time  and  thus  reaches  the  roots  of  plants  grow- 
ing there,  so  that  water  which  is  superfluous  or  even 
harmful  at  certain  periods  is  held  in  reserve  and 
gradually  distributed  at  the  right  moment. 

4 'Another  advantage  of  a  drainage  system  is  that 
it  prevents  that  cooling  of  the  soil  which  would  re- 
sult from  prolonged  evaporation.  In  taking  the 
form  of  vapor  water  chills  the  objects  that  help  to 
promote  the  evaporation.  For  this  reason  we  feel 
a  decided  chill  on  emerging  from  a  bath;  the  film 
of  moisture  that  covered  us  is  passing  off  in  vapor- 
ous form.  Similarly  a  constant  evaporation  at  the 
surface  of  a  water-soaked  tract  of  land  chills  the 
ground  and  we  have  a  cold  soil.  But  if  the  water 
is  carried  off  by  proper  drainage,  evaporation  ceases 
and  there  is  no  further  chilling  of  the  surface  soil. 
Now,  a  high  temperature  is  always  favorable  to  vege- 
tation. 

Draining  is  so  beneficial  that  it  is  not  confined  to 
marshy  ground,  which  without  it  would  be  quite  un- 
productive, but  is  applied  also  to  ordinary  arable 


218  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

land.  Wherever  the  soil  is  too  clayey,  or  even  where 
the  surface  soil  is  good  but  the  subsoil  clayey,  rain- 
water cannot  drain  off  readily  and  the  ground  re- 
mains soggy  and  cold.  Eventually,  however,  it  dries 
up,  but  there  being  no  way  for  the  air  to  permeate 
the  soil,  the  latter  is  left  hard  and  unyielding,  so 
that  the  roots  are  by  turns  drowned  in  liquid  mud 
and  held  fast  in  a  tenacious  paste  that  has  been 
baked  by  the  sun.  Drainage  overcomes  these  diffi- 
culties, and  consequently  all  rich  soils  that  hold  rain- 
water for  some  time  before  infiltration  are  much 
improved  by  being  properly  drained. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

PARING   AND   BURNING 

"VrOU  see  that  man  over  there  on  the  hillside," 
I  said  Uncle  Paul,  pointing  to  a  laborer  who, 
with  a  large  hoe,  was  paring  the  ground,  so  to 
speak,  by  shaving  off  great  squares  of  earth  covered 
with  grass  and  weeds  and  shrubs.  "You  see  how 
he  stands  those  pieces  up,  either  in  pairs,  back  to 
back,  or  one  at  a  time,  so  bent  or  vaulted  that  they 
will  stay  upright  by  themselves.  Thus  the  air  is  al- 
lowed to  circulate  and  dry  them  rapidly.  If  we  come 
back  in  a  few  days,  after  sun  and  air  have  done 
their  work  and  the  drying  process*  is  complete,  we 
shall  find  our  man  there  again  at  his  work;  and  we 
shall  see  how  he  piles  up  the  turf  with  the  earthy 
side  upward  and  outward.  In  the  middle  of  the 
pile  he  leaves  a  cavity  which  he  fills  with  brushwood 
and  dry  leaves.  Then  he  sets  fire  to  the  whole.  A 
second  pile  is  constructed  in  the  same  manner  and 
likewise  set  on  fire.  Soon  the  entire  hillside  is  cov- 
ered with  a  great  number  of  these  small  furnaces, 
burning  slowly  and  sending  out  long  trails  of  smoke. 
In  a  few  days,  three  or  four  at  most,  the  fires  burn 
themselves  out,  and  then,  as  soon  as  all  the  piles  are 
cold,  the  mixture  of  ashes  and  calcined  earth  is 
spread  over  the  ground  with  a  shovel.  This  agri- 

219 


220  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

cultural  operation  is  known  as  paring  and  burning, 
and  is  carried  out  for  the  purpose  of  rendering 
arable  a  tract  of  land  not  yet  under  cultivation  and 
still  covered  with  wild  vegetation. 

"The  operation  of  paring  and  burning  produces 
two  effects,  one  with  reference  to  the  clay  in  the 
soil,  the  other  having  to  do  with  the  ashes  left  from 
the  burning  of  the  weeds.  Clay,  as  you  know,  is  a 
tenacious,  binding  substance,  impervious  to  both 
air  and  water.  Consequently  a  soil  that  is  too  clayey 
is  unfavorable  for  vegetation,  furnishing  the  roots 
with  insufficient  air  and  moisture.  Now,  when  clay 
is  heated  to  a  high  temperature,  it  acquires  very 
different  properties:  it  no  longer  makes  paste  by 
the  addition  of  water,  but  is  porous,  permeable,  and 
readily  admits  air  and  water.  The  paring-and-burn- 
ing  process,  therefore,  improves  an  argillaceous  soil 
by  calcining  the  clay  and  rendering  it  permeable. 
That  is  as  much  as  to  say  that  if  paring  and  burn- 
ing are  beneficial  to  heavy  or  clayey  soils,  they  are, 
on  the  other  hand,  harmful  to  those  that  are  light 
or  sandy. 

"Finally,  the  operation  just  described  affects  the 
soil  through  the  ashes  of  the  burnt  weeds.  After 
the  combustion  of  all  vegetable  matter  there  re- 
mains an  earthy  powder  or  ash  comprising  the  min- 
eral substances  contained  in  that  vegetable  matter, 
substances  unchanged  by  combustion  because  of  their 
great  resistance  to  heat.  The  most  important  of 
these  is  potash.  All  the  ingredients  that  once  be- 
longed to  the  burnt  plants  are  evidently  adapted  to 


PARING  AND  BURNING  221 

the  formation  of  new  plants.  The  ashes,  then,  of 
the  weeds  consumed  in  the  process  of  paring  and 
burning  will  be  very  useful  to  the  plants  about  to 
be  raised  on  the  land  that  has  been  burnt  over.  By 
the  burning,  however,  it  is  impossible  to  turn  to 
account  all  that  the  weeds  contained:  what  escapes 
in  the  form  of  smoke  is  so  much  lost.  Hence  care 
should  be  taken  not  to  carry  combustion  too  far. 
In  this  connection  the  calcined  clay  renders  still 
another  service.  By  becoming  porous  through  cal- 
cination its  nature  is  altered  so  that  it  can  absorb 
and  retain  the  gaseous  products  of  combustion  and 
thus  save  just  so  much  waste.  But  if  a  soil  lacks 
clay,  paring  and  burning  are  harmful,  and  it  is  bet- 
ter simply  to  turn  the  weeds  under,  whereupon  they 
will  be  converted  into  mold  instead  of  being  dissi- 
pated in  the  atmosphere  as  smoke. 

1 '  Ashes  other  than  those  resulting  from  paring 
and  burning  are  also  used  as  an  agricultural  fer- 
tilizer, though  they  are  rarely  put  to  this  use  just 
as  they  are,  because  the  contained  potash,  a  highly 
valuable  substance,  is  first  extracted  by  leaching. 
After  this  process  the  ashes  are  called  buck-ashes. 
They  contain  silica  and  also  carbonate  and  phos- 
phate of  lime,  all  in  a  condition  most  favorable  for 
assimilation  by  plants.  Of  less  strength  than  ordi- 
nary ashes,  leached  ashes  nevertheless  produce  good 
results,  especially  on  clayey  soil.  Coal  ashes,  too, 
it  should  be  added,  serve  to  lighten  a  heavy  soil 
since  they  contain  a  large  proportion  of  calcined 
clay. 


222  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

"The  subject  of  ashes  leads  us  naturally  to  that  of 
soot,  a  substance  composed  of  vegetable  matter  in- 
completely decomposed  by  heat  and  containing  am- 
monia, which  renders  it  highly  efficacious  as  a  fer- 
tilizer. It  is  applied  to  young  plants,  giving  them 
an  increased  vigor  of  growth.  By  its  acrid  quality, 
moreover,  it  is  excellent  as  a  protection  against  in- 
sects that  attack  vegetation." 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

WINE-MAKING 

' \\  7 HEN  wine  is  heated,  there  is  first  an  escape 
V  V  of  an  inflammable  vapor  that  burns  with  a 
bluish  flame.  A  person  needs  only  to  have  seen 
once  this  preparation  of  hot  wine  to  recall  that 
curious  flame  flickering  over  the  boiling  liquid  and 
darting  up  little  blue  tongues.  Now,  this  inflam- 
mable vapor  comes  from  alcohol,  a  fluid  substance 
that  gives  to  wine  its  peculiar  properties  and  is 
hence  sometimes  called  spirits  of  wine.  There  are, 
then,  in  wine  two  distinct  liquids,  one  easily  redu- 
cible to  vapor  and  called  alcohol,  the  other  slower 
to  vaporize  and  recognizable  as  water.  This  does 
not  mean  that  the  wine  has  been  watered :  the  water 
in  question  is  not  there  as  the  result  of  fraud;  it 
belongs  naturally  to  the  wine  and  comes  from  grapes 
just  as  alcohol  does.  Wine  is  therefore  a  natural 
mixture  of  a  small  proportion  of  alcohol  with  a 
great  quantity  of  water.  In  our  ordinary  wines 
the  proportion  of  alcohol  for  each  hundred  quarts 
of  liquid  varies  from  nine  to  fourteen  quarts. 

"Wine  is  made  from  the  juice  of  grapes.     This 

juice,  as  it  is  pressed  out  of  the  sweet  grapes,  has 

none  of  the  taste  or  smell  peculiar  to  wine,  for  it 

does  not  yet  contain  any  alcohol ;  but  it  does  have  an 

223 


224  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

agreeably  sweet  taste,  the  same  taste  that  makes 
grapes  so  desirable  a  fruit  for  the  table.  This  pleas- 
ant flavor  is  due  to  a  sort  of  sugar  present  in  the 
grapes.  Examine  carefully  a  handful  of  raisins  such 
as  you  buy  at  the  grocer's:  you  will  detect  on  their 
surface,  certain  tiny  white  grains  that  crunch  under 
the  teeth  and  have  a  sweet  savor.  Those  grains 
are  little  particles  of  sugar  that  have  collected  on  the 
outside  of  the  grapes  during  the  process  of  drying. 
Grapes,  then,  must  contain  sugar. 

"Well  now,  this  sugar  is  exactly  what  causes  the 
formation  of  alcohol.  What  is  sugar  in  the  fresh 
juice  of  grapes  is  alcohol  in  the  same  juice  after  it 
has  fermented  and  turned  to  wine.  Let  us  consider 
briefly  how  this  change  comes  about. 

"The  vintage  is  first  of  all  subjected  to  a  process 
of  treading  by  men  who  trample  on  the  grapes  in 
large  vats,  after  which  the  resulting  mixture  of  juice 
and  skins  is  left  to  'work,'  as  we  say.  Before  long 
this  liquid  mush  begins  to  heat  of  its  own  accord, 
and  presently  there  sets  in  a  sort  of  boiling  which 
liberates  big  bubbles  of  gas  as  if  there  were  a  fire 
underneath.  This  working  process  is  called  fer- 
mentation, and  its  seat  is  in  the  sugar  of  the  grape- 
juice.  Little  by  little  the  sugar  decomposes,  splits 
apart  as  we  might  say,  into  two  substances  very 
different  from  each  other  and  also  very  different 
from  the  sugar  whence  they  came.  Of  these  two 
substances  one  is  alcohol ;  the  other  is  a  gas  already 
known  to  us — carbonic  acid,  the  same  gas  that  plants 
feed  on  and  that  animals  give  forth  in  breathing; 


WINE-MAKING  225 

the  same,  finally,  as  that  produced  by  burning  coal. 
The  alcohol  remains  in  the  liquid,  which  thus  grad- 
ually loses  its  original  sweet  taste  and  acquires  in- 
stead a  vinous  flavor.  The  gas,  on  the  contrary, 
works  its  way  to  the  surface,  agitating  the  mass 
with  a  sort  of  tumultuous  movement  like  that  of 
boiling  water,  and  is  dissipated  in  the  atmosphere. 

' '  Let  us  bear  in  mind  that  carbonic  acid  gas  is  as 
invisible  as  the  air  itself,  that  it  has  no  odor,  no 
color,  and  finally  that  it  kills  quickly  if  inhaled  in 
any  considerable  quantity.  That  explains  the  dan- 
ger lurking  in  a  wine-vat  during  fermentation,  or 
even  in  a  wine-cellar  that  lacks  sufficient  ventilation 
to  carry  off  the  perilous  gas.  No  one  should  enter 
such  places  without  holding  before  one  a  lighted  taper 
at  the  end  of  a  long  stick.  While  the  taper  continues 
to  burn  in  the  usual  manner,  one  can  proceed  with- 
out fear :  there  is  no  carbonic  acid  gas  present.  But 
if  the  flame  becomes  dim,  gets  smaller  and  smaller, 
and  finally  goes  out  altogether,  one  must  beat  a 
hasty  retreat,  for  the  extinction  of  the  taper  is  a 
sure  sign  of  the  presence  of  carbonic  acid  gas,  and 
further  advance  would  mean  exposing  oneself  to  im- 
minent death. 

"But  to  return  to  the  subject  of  wine-making, 
we  were  saying  that  the  sugar  which  imparts  its 
sweet  taste  to  the  must  (that  is,  the  unfermented 
grape- juice)  changes  its  nature  and  divides  into 
two  parts :  alcohol,  which  remains  in  the  liquid  and 
turns  it  to  wine,  and  carbonic  acid  gas,  which  is  dis- 
sipated in  the  atmosphere.  When  this  process  is 


226  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

finished  the  wine  is  drawn  off,  leaving  behind  the 
residuum  of  skins  and  pips.  The  final  product  is 
thus  composed  of  a  large  quantity  of  water  from 
the  grapes  themselves,  a  small  quantity  of  alcohol 
from  the  sugar  which  has  undergone  the  chemical 
change  just  described,  and,  finally,  a  coloring  sub- 
stance furnished  by  the  dark  grape-skins. 

11  White  wine  is  made  from  white  grapes,  which 
have  skins  with  no  coloring  matter ;  but  it  can  very 
well  be  made  from  dark  grapes,  colored  though  they 
are.  The  secret  consists  simply  in  this :  the  crushed 
grapes  are  pressed  before  fermentation  begins.  In 
this  way  the  juice  is  separated  from  the  skins,  and, 
these  latter  being  removed,  the  wine  will  be  white 
even  with  dark  grapes.  In  short,  the  coloring  mat- 
ter in  grapes  which  gives  its  hue  to  red  wine  is  con- 
tained solely  in  the  skins ;  and  furthermore  it  is  in- 
soluble in  water,  but  easily  soluble  in  alcohol.  Hence 
it  is  only  after  fermentation  has  made  some  progress 
that  the  liquid  becomes  colored  by  the  dissolving  of 
the  coloring  matter  through  the  agency  of  the  alco- 
hol that  has  been  generated.  Accordingly,  if  the 
skins  are  removed  before  the  juice  ferments  and 
generates  alcohol,  the  wine  remains  white,  since  it 
no  longer  contains  any  coloring  matter  to  dissolve. 

''Some  wines  force  out  the  corks  from  their  bot- 
tles and  are  covered  with  foam  on  being  poured  into 
glasses.  These  are  foamy  wines,  and  to  produce 
them  the  bottling  must  be  done  before  fermentation 
is  finished.  The  carbonic  acid  gas  then  continues 
to  form,  but  as  it  finds  no  way  of  escape  since  the 


WINE-MAKING  227 

bottle  is  tightly  corked,  it  dissolves  in  the  liquid  and 
accumulates  there,  though  all  the  while  endeavoring 
to  free  itself;  and  that  is  what  makes  the  cork  pop 
with  a  sharp  report  when  the  string  that  holds  it 
down  is  cut;  that  is  what  causes  the  wine  to  rush 
foaming  out  of  the  bottle;  and,  finally,  that  is  what 
gives  the  bead  to  a  glass  of  wine  and  makes  a  slight 
crackling  sound  as  the  bubbles  burst  on  the  sur- 
face. 

11  Foamy  wine  has  a  pungent  but  agreeable  taste 
owing  to  the  carbonic  acid  it  contains.  "We  drink, 
dispersed  through  the  liquid,  the  same  gas  as  would 
kill  us  if  freely  inhaled ;  but  it  has  no  terrors  except 
when  thus  inhaled.  Mixed  with  our  drinks,  it  im- 
parts to  them  a  slightly  tart  flavor,  harmless  and 
even  salubrious,  since  it  aids  digestion.  There  is 
carbonic  acid  gas  in  nearly  all  water  that  we  drink, 
and  it  is  in  fact  by  reason  of  this  gas  that  water  is 
able  to  hold  in  solution  the  small  proportion  of  stony 
matter  that  contributes  toward  the  formation  of 
our  bones.  It  is  to  this  gas,  finally,  that  effervescent 
lemonade,  cider,  beer,  and  Seltzer  water  owe  their 
pungency  and  their  foam." 


CHAPTER  XLV 

THE   STAG-BEETLE 

E  of  the  joys  of  your  time  of  life,  I  am  sure," 
resumed  Uncle  Paul,  as  he  and  his  hearers 
seated  themselves  in  the  shade  of  an  old  oak  tree 
amid  the  humming  and  whirring  of  insect  life  all 
about  them,  "is  the  study  of  the  little  creatures  of 
field  and  farm  and  forest,  so  interesting  in  their 
mode  of  life,  so  varied  in  their  forms  and  colors. 
You  chase  -the  splendid  butterfly  from  flower  to 
flower,  you  take  up  the  cockchafer  and  put  it  on  a  bed 
of  fresh  leaves,  with  a  straw  you  drive  the  cricket 
from  its  hole.  The  insect  that  amuses  you  can  also 
instruct  you.  In  our  modest  studies  let  us  now  have 
a  little  talk  on  this  subject. 

"What  is  this  tiny  creature  with  the  stout  coat- 
of-mail  of  chestnut  color?  Its  large  head,  showing 
parallel  folds  that  might  have  been  carved  by  a 
sculptor's  hand,  is  armed  with  two  branching  nip- 
pers which  open  like  a  pair  of  tongs  and  then  close, 
mangling  between  their  teeth  the  finger  they  have 
seized.  Woe  to  the  giddy-pate  that  lets  himself  be 
caught  by  them !  The  trap  closes  tighter  and  tighter 
and  never  lets  go. 

"But,  vigorous  as  are  its  mandibles,  the  insect 
is  not  one  to  be  afraid  of,  provided  only  you  look 

228 


THE  STAG-BEETLE  229 

out  for  those  nippers.  For  all  its  threatening  as- 
pect, it  is  at  bottom  a  peaceful  creature.  Catch  it 
by  one  leg  and  it  will  fly  round  and  round  like  the 
June-bug.  It  is  called  the  stag-beetle,  a  name  that 
explains  itself,  for  it  has  branching 
mandibles  resembling  a  stag's  horns, 
and  it  belongs  to  the  family  of  beetles. 
Put  the  two  words  together  and  you 
have  'stag-beetle.' 

"The  singular  creature  has  not 
always  been  as  we  see  it  to-day.  In 
its  youth,  not  later  than  last  year,  it 
had  neither  its  present  mandibles  nor 
its  six  legs  nor  its  chestnut-colored 
coat-of-mail.  In  fact,  its  form  had  nothing  in 
common  with  what  we  now  behold.  Then  it  was  a 
big,  fat  worm,  with  fine  white  skin,  crawling  on  legs 
so  small  and  feeble  as  hardly  to  deserve  mention. 

"The  whole  animal  consisted  of  little  more  than 
a  crawling  stomach  unprovided  with  any  protection. 
The  head  alone  was  fortified  with  a  substantial  skull 
of  horn,  and  it  also  bore,  one  on  the  right  side  of 
the  mouth,  the  other  on  the  left,  two  short  but  strong 
teeth  adapted  to  cutting  in  pieces  the  wood  of  the 
oak,  its  sole  nourishment. 

"Such  a  worm,  entirely  naked,  evidently  cannot 
live  in  the  open  air,  where  the  thousand  little  rough- 
nesses of  the  ground  would  be  continually  wounding 
its  delicate  skin.  It  must  have  a  safe  shelter  that 
it  need  not  leave  until  it  has  become  the  well-armored 
insect  we  now  see..  The  grub  of  the  stag-beetle  does 


230  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

in  fact  live  inside  the  oak,  which  affords  it  at  once 
food  and  lodging.  There,  in  the  depths  of  the  tree- 
trunk,  is  its  inviolable  retreat. 

"With  its  two  teeth,  as  hard  and  sharp  as  a  car- 
penter's tool,  it  cuts  away,  patiently,  bit  by  bit,  the 
fresh  wood  imbued  with  sap.  Each  fragment  thus 
detached  is  a  mouthful  for  the  worm 's  nourishment ; 
but  as  it  is  by  no  means  a  rich  diet  there  must  be  a 
good  deal  of  it  to  furnish  enough  nutriment.  There- 
fore the  gnawing  goes  on  without  cessation,  in  all 
directions,  with  a  corresponding  enlargement  of  the 
domicile,  which  soon  becomes  a  labyrinth  of  galler- 
ies that  go  up  and  down  and  cross  one  another,  pene- 
trate farther  into  the  trunk  or  approach  the  sur- 
face, at  the  pleasure  of  the  occupant,  whose  choice 
is  determined  by  its  taste  for  morsels  lying  in  this 
or  that  direction. 

"For  three  or  four  years  this  is  the  worm's  mode 
of  life.  To  make  itself  big  and  fat  is  its  sole  busi- 
ness, and  to  this  it  devotes  itself  with  vigor.  I  leave 
you  to  imagine  what  must  become  of  an  oak  tree 
worked  by  a  dozen  of  these  gnawing  creatures.  Un- 
der the  bark,  which  is  almost  intact,  the  trunk  is  one 
vast  wound,  perforated  with  galleries  that  are  them- 
selves littered  with  wormhole  dust,  and  oozing  with 
a  brown  juice  that  smells  like  a  tannery.  Unless  the 
forester  applies  a  remedy,  and  that  speedily,  the 
enormous  oak  will  be  ruined.  Leaving  this  care  to 
his  charge,  let  us  go  on  with  our  story. 

"When  it  has  become  big  enough  and  fat  enough, 
after  at  least  three  years  of  continual  feasting,  the 


THE  STAG-BEETLE  231 

worm  prepares  to  change  its  form.  Near  the  sur- 
face, that  its  future  exit  may  be  the  easier,  the  little 
creature  hollows  out  a  sufficiently  large  oval  cham- 
ber and  lines  it  with  a  sort  of  wadding  made  of  the 
finest  fibers  of  the  wood.  Thus  the  tender  flesh  of 
the  rejuvenated  insect  will  be  protected  from  all 
rude  outer  contact. 

"These  precautions  taken,  the  worm  undergoes 
its  transfiguration :  it  splits  open  all  down  the  back, 
strips  off  its  skin,  throws  it  away  like  a  discarded 
garment,  and  is  born  a  second  time,  as  one  might 
say,  but  under  a  totally  different  form.  It  is  no 
longer  a  worm — far  from  it — but  it  is  not  yet  a  stag- 
beetle,  although  the  outlines  of  the  latter  are  already 
discernible. 

"The  creature  is  quite  motionless,  as  if  dead. 
The  legs,  neatly  folded  over  the  stomach,  are  as 
transparent  as  crystals;  the  nippers  are  pressed 
close  to  the  breast;  the  wings,  not  yet  expanded, 
have  the  appearance  of  a  short  scarf  encircling  the 
flanks;  and  the  whole  is  swathed  in  swaddling- 
clothes  finer  in  texture  than  an  onion  skin.  The  en- 
tire organism  is  wrapped  in  a  repose  so  profound 
that  one  might  think  all  life  extinct.  It  is  white  or 
crystalline  in  appearance,  and  so  tender  that  a 
mere  nothing  will  wound  it.  The  coarse  worm  of 
the  beginning  has  been  succeeded  by  this  most  deli- 
cate of  creatures. 

"Out  of  the  material  amassed  by  the  wood-gnaw- 
er's voracious  appetite  there  is  created  an  entirely 
new  being.  The  flesh,  at  first  nearly  fluid,  slowly 


232  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

acquires  consistency;  the  skin  hardens,  assumes  a 
chestnut  hue,  takes  on  the  firmness  of  horn ;  in  fact, 
when  the  warm  season  returns  again  the  insect  wakes 
up  from  that  deep  sleep,  not  of  death,  but  neverthe- 
less very  much  like  it.  The  creature  moves,  tears 
apart  the  swathing  bands  under  which  its  rebirth 
has  taken  place,  strips  off  these  wrappings,  and  here 
at  last  we  have  the  insect  in  its  full  perfection.  Be- 
hold the  stag-beetle ! 

"It  comes  out  from  its  native  oak,  spreads  its 
wings  in  flight  under  cover  of  the  foliage,  and  set- 
tles down,  now  on  this  tree,  now  on  that,  in  the  rays 
of  the  sun.  The  freedom  of  the  open  air  and  the 
enjoyment  of  the  light  of  day  constitute  its  supreme 
felicity  for  which  it  has  been  preparing  during  the 
three  or  four  years  of  constant  toil  in  the  dark  gal- 
leries of  an  old  oak. 

"Thenceforth  it  grows  no  larger.  Just  as  it  was 
on  emerging  from  its  cell,  so  it  will  remain  to  the 
end,  without  the  least  increase  either  in  weight  or 
in  bulk.  Thus  it  leads  a  very  staid  existence.  In 
its  grub  state  the  famished  creature  gnawed  wood 
night  and  day;  its  life  was  a  perpetual  digestion. 
Now,  on  the  contrary,  all  that  it  needs  in  the  way 
of  sustenance  is  an  occasional  sip  of  the  sweetened 
sap  oozing  from  the  "bark  of  the  tree. 

"But  its  days  of  idle  delight  are  numbered;  it  has 
scarcely  a  couple  of  months  to  spend  joyously  among 
the  oak  trees.  Then  it  lays  its  eggs,  one  by  one, 
in  the  crevices  of  tree-trunks,  to  propagate  its  kind; 
and,  that  done,  it  very  soon  dies.  It  has  played  its 


THE  STAG-BEETLE  233 

part.  From  those  eggs  will  come  forth  worms  which 
will  patiently  work  their  way  into  the  wood,  hollow 
out  galleries  there  in  their  turn,  and  begin  all  over 
again  the  very  sort  of  existence  led  by  their  fore- 
fathers. 

"The  greater  number  of  insects  have  the  same  life- 
history  as  the  stag-beetle :  they  pass  through  differ- 
ent stages  before  taking  on  their  final  form.  All 
without  exception,  the  smallest  as  well  as  the  larg- 
est, come  from  eggs  deposited  by  the  mother  in 
chosen  places  where  the  needed  nourishment,  so 
variable  in  different  species,  is  easy  to  find. 

"From  the  egg  emerges,  not  the  finished  insect 
with  all  its  distinctive  traits,  but  a  provisional  crea- 
ture bearing,  very  often,  no  resemblance  to  the  par- 
ent or  to  the  matured  offspring  of  that  parent.  This 
initial  form  we  called  a  worm  in  speaking  of  the  stag- 
beetle,  and  the  name  is  in  that  instance  appropriate ; 
but  in  a  multitude  of  cases  it  would  be  incorrect, 
having  no  agreement  with  the  creature 's  appearance. 
We  then  call  it  a  larva. 

"The  larva  is  therefore  the  insect  under  the  form 
it  presents  on  emerging  from  the  egg.  Its  contin- 
uance in  this  form  is  longer  than  in  that  of  the  finally 
perfected  creature.  The  larva  of  the  stag-beetle  re- 
mains a  larva  for  three  or  four  years,  whereas  the 
beetle  itself  lives  but  a  couple  of  months.  The  sole 
occupation  of  this  grub  is  eating,  continual  eating, 
that  it  may  grow  fat  and  store  up  supplies  enough 
to  carry  it  through  its  subsequent  transformations. 

"Having  attained  sufficient  size,  the  larva  con- 


234  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

structs  a  retreat  for  itself,  hollows  out  a  little  cell, 
and  spins  a  cocoon  where  in  perfect  quiet  the  deli- 
cate task  of  transformation  will  be  undertaken.  It 
strips  off  its  skin  and  becomes  an  inert,  formative 
body  known  as  a  nymph. 

"Finally,  the  nymph,  having  arrived  at  the  right 
degree  of  maturity,  casts  off  its  wrappings  and  re- 
veals itself  as  transformed  into  a  perfect  insect.  It 
lays  its  eggs,  and  the  same  succession  of  changes 
is  again  repeated.  The  egg,  the  larva,  the  nymph, 
the  perfect  insect — there  you  have  the  four  stages 
of  the  insect's  life.  These  changes  of  form  are 
called  metamorphoses. " 


CHAPTER  XL VI 

SHEATH-WINGED   INSECTS 

1  T  SHOW  you  here  the  scarab,  clothed  all  in  black. 
X  Passionate  lover  of  the  sun,  it  rarely  strays  be- 
yond the  regions  bordering  on  the  Mediterranean. 
It  belongs  to  the  band  of  scavengers,  a  group  of 
handsome  insects  which,  feeding  on  ordure,  are 
charged  with  the  sanitation  cf  the  greensward  de- 
nied by  grazing  herds. 

"Its  favorite  dish  is  the  dung  of  horses  and  mules. 
With  the  toothed  edges  of  its  head  it  rummages  in 
the  dung;  with  its  wide,  serrate  fore  legs  it  cuts  up 
this  material,  kneads  it,  and  molds  it  into  a  ball 
about  as  large  as  an  apricot.  This  done,  the  next 
thing  is  to  seek  out  some  quiet  retreat  far  from 
the  hubbub  of  its  fellows  who  have  been  drawn  to 
the  spot  for  as  much  as  a  kilometer  round  about  by 
the  odor;  and  of  course  the  booty  must  be  trundled 
away  to  this  secure  retreat,  there  to  be  eaten  at  ease, 
without  fear  of  predatory  assaults  from  the  envious. 

"This  task  is  performed  in  couples.  One  hooks 
on  to  the  globule  in  front  and  pulls  with  head  up; 
the  other  pushes  from  behind  with  head  down. 
Heave  ho!  It  starts,  it  rolls,  under  the  combined 
efforts  of  the  two  partners.  On  the  down  grade  the 
load  again  and  again  runs  away  with  the  team,  which 

235 


236  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

falls  headlong,  gets  up  again,  and  catches  hold  of  the 
cargo  once  more  with  an  ardor  that  nothing  can  dis- 
courage. Under  the  rays  of  a  scorching  sun  this 
store  of  provision  is  thus  dragged  a  long  distance 
over  the  sand,  across  the  greensward,  and  over  ruts. 
Perhaps  the  scarabs  find  their  bread  at  first  not  suf- 
ficiently compact,  and  seek  to  give  it  consistency  by 
rolling  it  on  the  ground.  Every  one  according  to  his 
fancy. 

"At  last  a  favorable  spot  is  selected  in  a  sandy 
tract.  One  of  the  two  proprietors  hollows  out  in  all 
haste  a  dining-room,  while  the  other  stands  guard 
without  over  the  globular  treasure,  ready  to  defend 
it  stoutly  against  any  chance  marauder.  As  soon  as 
the  dining-room  is  ready  the  provisions  are  stored 
away  there,  after  which  the  two  colleagues  shut  them- 
selves up  in  their  domicile,  safe  from  unwelcome  vis- 
itors, closing  their  door  with  sand.  So  there  they 
are  at  table,  with  their  heap  of  victuals  in  front  of 
them;  and  now  for  a  good  feast!  When  the  board 
is  bare  again,  the  two  banqueters  leave  their  dugout 
to  gather  together  a  new  globule  and  resume  their 
feasting. 

"The  scarab  is  not  found  everywhere,  the  more's 
the  pity,  for  its  manner  of  life  is  very  curious  to 
watch.  Wanting  this  manufacturer  of  globules,  we 
nevertheless  do  have  everywhere  other  scavengers 
which  work  in  somewhat  similar  fashion.  Out  of 
ordure  they  put  together  little  balls  of  the  size  of  a 
cherry,  and  sometimes  they  roll  away  their  plunder, 
as  does  the  scarab,  bury  it  in  the  ground,  and  there 


SHEATH-WINGED  INSECTS  237 

regale  themselves  on  it.  Their  trade  of  making 
these  little  balls  or  pills  has  given  them  the  express- 
ive name  of  pill-mixers. 

"Let  us  pass  on  to  other  kinds.  This  one,  for  ex- 
ample, is  called  the  calosoma.  By  reason  of  the  ele- 
gance of  its  form  and  the  richness  of  its  coloring 
it  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  insects  of  our  region. 
Its  back  has  the  brilliance  of  a  gem  such  as  no  jeweler 
ever  possessed.  One  would  really  take  it  to  be  made 
of  gold,  but  gold  of  a  peculiar  sort  and  much  richer 
than  ours,  flashing  as  it  does  with  red,  green,  and 
purple  glints.  There  is  nothing  to  compare  with 
this  dazzling  costume.  It  should  be  added  that  if  the 
insect  is  taken  between  the  fingers  it  emits,  as  a 
means  of  defense,  a  strong  odor  reminding  one  of  a 
chemist's  disagreeable  drugs. 

"The  calosoma  does  not  share  the  scarab's  peace- 
ful habits :  it  is  an  ardent  hunter  and  leads  a  life  of 
carnage.  Its  prey  is  the  caterpillar,  the  bigger  the 
better,  whether  smooth-skinned  or  hairy.  If  you 
happen  to  find  a  calosoma,  put  it  into  a  good-sized 
bottle  and  give  it  for  dinner  a  lusty  young  caterpillar 
as  large  as  your  finger.  You  will  see  with  what  fero- 
cious satisfaction  this  drinker  of  blood  will  disem- 
bowel the  poor  worm,  despite  all  its  writhing  and 
squirming,  and  will  feast  on  its  green  entrails. 

"The  carabid,  which  is  also  a  passionate  lover  of 
game,  has  the  calosoma 's  activity  and  brilliance,  but 
is  of  smaller  size.  Some  are  bronze  in  color,  others 
golden,  still  others  of  a  copper  tint,  or  black  edged 
with  a  superb  violet.  All  explore  with  keen  scrutiny 


238  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

the  thick  tufts  of  grass,  and  give  chase  to  small  prey 
such  as  larvae,  caterpillars,  and  worms.  The  most 
common  example  of  this  class  wears  a  golden  green 
coat  and  is  a  frequenter  of  gardens,  where  it  makes 
war  on  all  kinds  of  vermin.  It  is  the  little  guardian 
of  our  beds  of  peas  and  beans,  and  of  our  flower 
borders.  In  honor  of  its  services  to  the  garden  we 
call  it  the  gardener. 

"The  calosoma  and  the  carabid  do  not  fly ;  they  are 
made  for  running,  as  is  evident  from  their  long  legs, 
their  agile  movements,  and  their  lithe  form.  They 
chase  the  game  in  hot  pursuit,  or  else  lie  in  wait 
for  it  behind  a  leaf,  but  never  pursue  it  on  the  wing. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  scarab,  the  common  June-bug, 
and  a  host  of  other  insects  fly  very  well." 

"But  why  don't  they  all  fly?"  asked  Emile. 

"I  will  tell  you,"  replied  his  uncle.  "Look  care- 
fully at  the  June-bug  a  moment.  It  has  two  kinds 
of  wings:  on  the  outside  two  large  and  substantial 
scales  of  horn,  and  beneath  these  two  fine  mem- 
branous wings,  expanded  during  flight,  but  carefully 
folded  together  and  concealed  when  not  in  use.  The 
outside  scales  are  called  elytra,  or  sheaths.  They 
serve  as  a  case  for  enclosing  and  protecting  the  deli- 
cate membranous  wings,  which  alone  are  fitted  for 
flying.  The  carabid  and  the  calosoma  have  sheaths 
of  splendid  brilliance,  it  is  true,  but  beneath  these 
sheaths  there  are  no  membranous  wings  to  spread 
themselves  in  flight  and  fold  up  again  in  repose. 
Hence  these  two  insects  are  unable  to  fly. 

"The  dytiscus  and  the  hydrophile,  whose  names 


SHEATH-WINGED  INSECTS  239 

signify  'diver'  and  'water-lover'  respectively,  both 
frequent  the  waters  of  deep  ponds,  of  ditches,  and  of 
pools.  With  their  legs  flattened  out  like  oars,  their 
very  smooth  bodies,  arched  above  and  keel-shaped 
below,  they  are  first-rate  swimmers  and  divers.  It 
is  a  feast  for  the  eye  to  follow  the  graceful  agility 
of  their  oars  when  they  row  calmly  on  the  surface 
or  plunge  beneath  it. 

"At  the  least  alarm  they  dart  quickly  to  the  bed 
of  the  pond  and  take  refuge  amid  the  water  plants. 
On  the  instant  of  diving  their  belly  is  seen  to  flash 
like  a  plate  of  polished  silver.  The  reason  of  this 
borrowed  sheen  is  found  in  a  thin  layer  of  air  that 
they  carry  with  them  adherent  to  the  belly.  With 
this  supply  they  will  have  air  to  breathe  until,  all 
danger  past,  they  ascend  again  to  the  surface. 

"In  the  matter  of  costume  these  two  master-swim- 
mers are  of  modest  appearance.  Both  are  of  a  very 
somber  olive  green,  but  in  addition  the  dytiscus 
wears  faded  gold  lace  on  its  sheaths.  If  the  pond 
dries  up  or  ceases  to  please  them,  they  can  quickly 
betake  themselves  to  another — not  on  foot,  for  their 
flattened  legs,  excellent  as  oars,  are  worthless  in 
walking,  but  by  flight,  with  the  help  of  their  mem- 
branous wings,  ordinarily  hidden  under  the  sheaths, 
where  the  water  cannot  reach  them. 

"In  old  oak  trees  the  larva  of  the  capricorn-beetle, 
another  ravager  of  forests,  leads  much  the  same  kind 
of  life  as  does  the  grub  of  the  stag-beetle.  Large  in 
size,  all  black  with  gleams  of  chestnut,  this  insect  is 
remarkable  for  its  jointed  horns,  which  are  longer 


240  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

than  its  body.  What  can  it  do  with  these  cumber- 
some ornaments!  Does  it  wear  them  on  its  forehead 
to  intimidate  the  foe?  I  would  not  venture  to  dis- 
pute the  matter,  but  what  I  do  know  very  well  is  that 
with  its  extravagantly  long  horns  it  frightens  the 
inexperienced  young  pupil  so  that  he  dares  not  touch 
it,  and  he  calls  it  the  devil.  All  the  same,  the  cap- 
ricorn-beetle  does  not  deserve  the  evil  reputation  it 
has  got  from  the  timid.  It  is  perfectly  harmless. 

"Insects'  horns  are  called  antennas.  All  have 
them,  some  longer  and  some  shorter,  now  of  one 
shape,  now  of  another.  In  some  instances  they  are 
flexible  filaments,  jointed  chaplets;  in  others,  short 
stems  ending  in  either  a  cluster  of  little  buds  or  a 
bunch  of  leaves  pressed  one  against  the  other.  See 
for  example  the  burly  and  magnificent  insect  that 
browses  the  foliage  of  our  pine-trees  on  warm  sum- 
mer days.  It  is  called  the  pine-beetle.  On  a  chest- 
nut background  it  wears  a  sprinkling  of  white  spots. 
The  antennae  carry  at  the  end  a  set  of  little  plates 
or  scales  which  open  and  shut  like  the  leaves  of  a 
book. 

"It  is  in  place  here  to  mention  the  common  June- 
bug,  furnished  like  the  pine-beetle  with  antennae 
bearing  leaf-clusters  at  the  end.  I  propose  to  tell 
you  its  story  in  detail;  for,  if  this  little  creature  is 
the  joy  of  young  people  of  your  age,  it  is  also  the 
terror  of  the  farmer. 

"But  first  one  word  more  to  conclude  our  short 
story  of  sheath-winged  insects.  Their  number  is  im- 
mense. Nearly  all  have  membranous  wings  under 


SHEATH-WINGED  INSECTS  241 

the  protecting  case  formed  by  the  sheaths ;  and  these 
can  fly.  Others,  relatively  few,  are  unprovided  with 
membranous  wings,  and  hence  are  unfitted  for  flight. 
This  entire  group  bears  the  general  name  of  coleop- 
tera,  meaning  sheath-winged.  A  coleopter  is  any  in- 
sect furnished  with  sheaths,  whether  it  flies  or  not." 


CHAPTER  XLVII 


THE   JUNE-BUG 

TT  is  a  discovery  of  no  small  importance  in  your 
A  eyes,  my  young  friends,  when  you  find  the  first 
June-bug  of  the  season  on  the  young  foliage.  In  the 
evening  you  get  together  in  a  corner  and  talk  about 
it,  you  make  plans  for  the  morrow, 
and  all  your  conversation  is  about 
the  June-bug  that  has  just  arrived. 
You  arrange  to  get  up  early  the 
next  day  and  shake  the  trees  in 
order  to  bring  down  the  sleeping 
insects;  you  get  ready  a  box, 
pierced  with  holes,  to  receive  the 
captives,  and  put  in  a  handful  of 
fresh  leaves  for  them  to  feed  on. 

"At  the  first  streak  of  dawn 
you  are  up;  you  visit  the  willows, 
the  poplars,  the  hawthorn  hedges  wet  with  dew. 
It  is  a  fruitful  hunt:  the  June-bugs,  benumbed 
by  the  chill  of  night,  fall  like  hail  when  you  shake 
the  branches.  Soon  you  have  a  half  a  score  of 
them,  then  a  dozen,  then  twenty.  It  is  enough.  You 
go  back  to  the  house  with  your  prisoners  fluttering 
and  struggling  in  the  foot  of  an  old  stocking,  in  your 

242 


THE  JUNE-BUG  243 

handkerchief,  or  in  your  cap.  You  bring  a  supply 
of  green  leaves. 

"And  now  for  your  experiments!  You  tie  a  long 
string  to  the  leg  of  one  of  the  beetles  and  put  the 
insect  in  the  sun.  It  inflates  and  deflates  its  belly, 
raises  its  wing-sheaths,  and  expands  its  wings. 
There  it  goes,  into  the  air.  Your  experiment  has 
succeeded.  These  delights  of  the  June-bug  season, 
my  children — enjoy  them  as  long  as  you  can.  Other 
pleasures  pale  beside  them.  In  view  of  the  amuse- 
ment it  affords  you  I  gladly  welcome  the  June-bug. 
But  turn  now  to  a  less  pleasing  aspect  of  the  matter. 

"Like  every  other  insect,  the  June-bug  is  at  first 
a  grub.  In  that  form  it  lives  three  years  in  the 
ground,  whereas  in  its  final  state,  when  it  is  found 
on  trees  and  bushes,  it  lives  but  two  or  three  weeks. 
This  grub  or  larva  is  commonly  called  the  white 
grub,  also  the  fish-worm,  and  sometimes  the  ground- 
hog. Look  at  it  carefully  for  a  moment  and  tell  me 
what  you  see." 

"I  see,"  answered  Louis,  "a  fat,  big-bellied  worm, 
slow  in  its  movements,  and  fond  of  lying  curled  up  on 
its  side.  It  is  of  a  whitish  color  with  a  yellowish 
head." 

"Yes,  and  what  else?" 

"It  has  six  legs,  not  made  for  running  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  ground,  but  for  crawling  underneath ;  and 
it  has  strong  jaws  for  biting  the  roots  of  plants.  Its 
head  is  capped  with  horn  to  help  it  in  boring  through 
the  soil." 

"Very  good,"  was  Uncle  Paul's  approving  com- 


244  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

ment;  "and  you  see  how  the  stomach  is  distended 
with  food,  which  shows  in  a  darker  tint  through  the 
white  skin  of  the  paunch.  So  gorged  is  the  worm,  in 
fact,  that  it  cannot  stand  on  its  legs,  but  lies  lazily 
on  its  side. 

"For  three  years  this  fat  grub  lives  under  ground, 
always  under  ground,  tunneling  like  a  mole  in  all 
directions,  and  living  on  roots.  Then  it  makes  for 
itself  a  little  chamber  out  of  earth,  very  smooth  in- 
side, and  shuts  itself  up  there;  after  which  it  pro- 
ceeds to  transform  itself  into  a  nymph,  and  then  into 
a  June-bug.  Everything  serves  it  for  food:  the 
roots  of  grass  and  of  trees,  of  cereals  and  of  fodder, 
of  vegetables  and  of  flowers.  In  winter  it  buries 
itself  deep  in  the  ground  and  becomes  torpid ;  at  the 
approach  of  spring  it  returns  to  the  upper  layers  of 
the  soil,  installs  itself  among  the  roots,  and  goes  from 
plant  to  plant,  leaving  devastation  in  its  path.  You 
have,  let  us  suppose,  a  fine  bed  of  lettuce  in  your 
garden.  From  no  apparent  cause,  some  morning, 
you  find  it  all  withered.  You  pull  up  one  of  the 
plants,  and  it  proves  to  have  no  root ;  the  white  grub 
has  cut  it  away.  Or  you  have  a  nursery  of  young 
fruit  trees  for  your  orchard.  The  terrible  worm 
passes  that  way,  and  your  nursery  is  good  for  noth- 
ing but  fire-wood.  Or  you  have  sown  several  acres 
with  wheat  or  rape,  you  have  made  a  considerable 
outlay  for  fertilizer  and  labor ;  but  there  is  promise 
of  a  handsome  harvest  with  large  profit  to  you.  The 
larva  of  the  June-bug  works  its  way  up  from  the 
depths,  and  then  good-bye  to  your  harvest ;  the  stalks 


THE  JUNE-BUG  245 

dry  up  as  they  stand,  having  no  roots  left  to  sustain 
them.  When  this  formidable  worm  invades  a  coun- 
try, famine  would  surely  follow  were  it  not  that 
traffic  facilities  make  possible  the  speedy  importation 
of  provisions  from  other  lands.  We  live  in  a  pro- 
gressive age  and,  thanks  to  the  means  of  transport 
and  to  the  briskness  of  trade,  people  do  not  die  of 
hunger  in  a  province  whose  fields  have  been  devas- 
tated by  the  white  grub.  They  do  not  die  of  hunger, 
but  what  woe  follows  in  the  wake  of  the  devouring 
larva !  Year  in  and  year  out,  it  destroys  millions  of 
francs'  worth  of  crops  in  France  alone. 

*  *  The  multitude  of  these  little  insects  is  truly  ter- 
rifying. When  they  invade  a  field,  the  earth,  under- 
mined in  all  directions,  loses  its  firmness  and  yields 
under  the  pressure  of  the  foot.  One  year,  in  the 
department  of  the  Sarthe,  the  ravages  became  so 
serious  that  it  was  necessary  to  undertake  a  sys- 
tematic destruction  of  the  pest.  The  June-bug  was 
hunted  on  a  large  scale,  and  sixty  thousand  decaliters 
were  gathered  in,  each  decaliter  containing  about  five 
thousand  insects.  Thus  the  total  number  taken 
amounted  to  three  hundred  millions.  To  give  you 
some  idea  of  the  immensity  of  this  number  I  will  add 
that  if  you  should  try  to  count  those  three  hundred 
million  insects,  one  by  one,  it  would  take  you  more 
than  twenty  years,  working  ten  hours  a  day. 

''In  the  department  of  the  Lower  Seine  there  was 
at  one  time  found  to  be  an  average  of  twenty-three 
larvae  of  the  June-bug  to  the  square  meter,  or  two 
hundred  and  thirty  thousand  devourers  to  each  hec- 


246  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

tare.  A  hectare  will  raise  a  crop  of  one  hundred 
thousand  beets.  Thus  each  beet  was  gnawed  by  at 
least  two  worms.  Allowing  eighty  thousand  rape- 
stalks  to  the  hectare,  we  find  each  stalk  feeding  three 
worms,  or  very  nearly.  It  is  clear  that  under  these 
desperate  conditions  no  rape-seed  -oil  or  beet-root 
sugar  can  be  produced.  Every  plant  perishes.  In 
the  single  year  1866  the  Lower  Seine  lost  from  this 
cause  about  twenty-five  million  francs. 

"In  1868,  in  different  parts  of  France,  notably  in 
Normandy,  the  multiplication  of  June-bugs  was  so 
great  as  to  spread  alarm  throughout  the  rural  dis- 
tricts. Trees  were  completely  stripped  of  their  fo- 
liage, and  in  the  evening,  when  the  insects  fly  abroad, 
such  clouds  of  them  encumbered  the  atmosphere  as 
to  make  it  difficult  to  walk  about.  Almost  every- 
where there  were  June-bug  hunts  organized,  and 
those  who  gathered  the  insects  received  from  the 
public  treasury  from  four  to  six  francs  per  hundred 
liters.  In  one  place  alone,  Fontaine-Mallet,  near 
Havre,  there  were  gathered  four  thousand  and  fifty- 
nine  kilograms  of  the  insects  in  four  days.  The 
school-master  sent  his  pupils  out  after  June-bugs, 
and  four  hundred  and  forty  kilograms  was  the  result 
of  one  day's  collecting.  All  these  insects  were 
carted  to  Havre  by  the  wagon-load  and  drowned  in 
the  sea.  In  certain  communes  they  were  brought  to 
the  town  hall  in  such  quantities  that  there  was  no 
way  of  disposing  of  them.  The  air  reeked  with  the 
stench  they  made. 

"It  is  said  that  in  1668  the  June-bugs  destroyed  all 


THE  JUNE-BUG  247 

the  vegetation  in  one  county  of  Ireland,  so  that  the 
country  presented  the  dead  appearance  of  winter. 
The  sound  made  by  the  insects'  mandibles  in  brows- 
ing the  foliage  of  the  trees  was  like  that  of  a  car- 
penter's saw,  and  the  hum  of  wings  resembled  the 
distant  beating  of  drums.  Enveloped  in  clouds  of 
insects  and  blinded  by  the  living  hail,  the  inhabitants 
could  hardly  see  to  go  about.  The  famine  was  hor- 
rible :  the  poor  Irish  people  were  even  obliged  to  eat 
the  June-bugs  to  keep  from  starving. ' ' 

"Oh,  how  awful  that  must  have  been!"  exclaimed 
the  group  of  listeners. 

"Yes,  awful,  indeed,"  assented  Uncle  Paul,  "and 
I  have  a  few  more  instances  to  relate,  less  lamentable 
than  the  Irish  famine,  it  is  true,  but  still  of  a  nature 
to  show  us  how  prodigious  were  the  legions  of  June- 
bugs  in  certain  years.  In  1832,  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Gisors,  a  stage-coach  became  enveloped  at  night- 
fall in  a  cloud  of  these  insects.  Blinded  and  terrified, 
the  horses  obstinately  refused  to  go  on.  Finally 
there  was  nothing  to  do  but  turn  about  and  go  back, 
so  completely  did  the  humming  swarm  bar  the  way. 
Forty  years  ago  the  June-bugs  descended  upon 
Macon  after  ravaging  the  vineyards  in  its  vicinity. 
They  were  scooped  up  in  the  streets  by  the  shovelful, 
and  to  make  one's  way  through  the  cloud  of  beetles 
one  had  to  clear  a  passage  by  the  energetic  brandish- 
ing of  a  stick. 

"Since  the  June-bug  is -so  redoubtable  a  scourge  to 
agriculture,  since  it  is  a  foe  with  which  one  must 
reckon  most  seriously,  how,  you  will  ask,  is  it  to  be 


248  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

got  rid  of?  There  is  one  way,  and  only  one:  col- 
lecting and  destroying  both  grubs  and  beetles.  We 
can  count  to  a  certain  extent  on  the  help  of  moles, 
hedge-hogs,  ravens,  crows,  and  magpies,  all  of  which 
hunt  the  larvae,  especially  in  newly  ploughed  fields ; 
and  we  can  also  count  on  the  aid  of  a  host  of  birds 
such  as  shrikes,  sparrows,  and  others,  which  devour 
the  beetles ;  but  the  number  of  the  enemy  is  so  great 
that  this  destruction  by  natural  means  does  not  al- 
ways suffice.  We  must  then  lend  an  energetic  hand 
ourselves.  Which  of  the  two  is  to  enjoy  the  fruits 
of  the  earth,  man  or  June-bug?  Man,  if  he  will  but 
bestir  himself  and  wage  unceasing  war  on  both  the 
insect  and  its  larva. 

"The  white  grub,  as  I  told  you,  bores  into  the 
earth  more  or  less  deeply  according  to  the  season. 
In  winter  it  goes  down  half  a  meter,  a  depth  at  which 
it  is  protected  from  the  frost.  Upon  the  return  of 
milder  weather  it  comes  up  again,  to  be  within  reach 
of  the  roots;  and  from  the  first  of  April  it  can  be 
found  by  digging  down  twenty  centimeters.  A  fa- 
vorable time,  therefore,  is  chosen  for  turning  up  the 
earth  and  bringing  the  larvae  to  the  surface,  where- 
upon women  and  children,  following  af tec  the  plough, 
gather  up  the  white  grubs  in  the  furrows.  A  single 
hectare  has  been  known  to  yield  in  this  way  from  two 
hundred  to  three  hundred  kilograms  of  worms.  The 
vermin  are  pressed  down  into  the  earth  with  lime, 
the  whole  making  an  excellent  manure,  and  the  enemy 
of  harvests  thus  serves  to  accelerate  their  growth. ' ' 


CHAPTER  XL VIII 

CATERPILLARS   AND   BUTTERFLIES 

&tt  insects  butterflies  are  the  most  graceful, 
the  most  worthy  of  childhood's  eager  desire. 
Oh,  how  beautiful  they  are !  Poised  on  a  flower,  they 
seem  to  form  a  part  of  it  and  to  animate  it  with  the 
gentle  beating  of  their  wings.  You  cautiously  draw 
near,  you  crouch  down  and  make  a  quick  clutch  with 
the  hand,  but  the  beautiful  creature  is  no  longer 
there.  It  is  waiting  for  you  on  another  flower,  quite 
unconcerned  at  your  designs  on  its  freedom.  Let 
us  leave  it,  then,  to  flit  from  one  cluster  of  lilacs  to 
another,  and  occupy  ourselves  a  while  with  an  ac- 
count of  its  structure  and  habits. 

"All  butterflies  have  four  wings  suitable  for  fly- 
ing, two  upper  and  larger  ones,  and  two  lower  ones 
half  hidden  under  the  others.  Here  we  find  no  horny 
sheaths  such  as  are  worn  by  the  scarab  and  the  June- 
bug,  no  protecting  case  under  which  the  membranous 
wings  are  folded  to  guard  against  laceration.  The 
scarab  is  a  clod-hopper,  well  acquainted  with  the 
harsh  irregularities  of  the  ground.  He  pursues  his 
plodding  course  on  foot,  and  it  is  only  rarely  that  he 
spreads  his  wings  in  flight.  The  butterfly  is  a  deli- 
cate creature  of  the  air,  very  seldom  using  its  legs 
for  walking,  but  finding  them  of  service  when  it 

249 


250  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

alights  upon  a  flower.    It  has,  therefore,  four  broad 
wings,  wide-spread  and  always  ready  for  flight. 

1  *  And  what  wings !  Words  are  lacking  to  describe 
them  fitly.  Some  are  white  as  if  coated  with  flour, 
others  sky-blue,  and  still  others  sulphur-yellow. 
Again  you  find  them  of  a  flame-like  red  or  dark 
crimson.  Some  have  round  spots  like  eyes,  which 


Butterfly 

look  at  you  with  their  large  pupils  encircled  by  azure, 
mother-of-pearl,  or  gold;  and  you  will  see  others 
speckled  with  black,  adorned  with  silver  lace,  or 
fringed  with  carmine.  If  you  touch  them  they  leave 
on  your  fingers  a  brilliant  powder  beside  which  the 
filings  of  the  precious  metals  would  look  dull. 

"This  dust  might  be  called  the  butterfly's  plumage. 
It  consists  of  scales  of  extreme  delicacy,  pli  Oed  reg- 
ularly side  by  side  like  the  tiles  on  a  roof,  and  at- 
tached by  one  end  to  the  membrane  of  the  wing  just 
as  a  bird's  feathers  have  their  quills  implanted  in 
its  skin.  Grasped  roughly  between  the  fingers,  the 
wing  parts  with  its  delicate  covering ;  it  loses  its  or- 


CATERPILLARS  AND  BUTTERFLIES      251 

namental  scales  and  shows  naked  to  the  view.  It  is 
then  a  fine,  translucent  membrane  traversed  by  a  net- 
work of  tiny  ribs,  or  nervures,  as  they  are  called, 
which  hold  it  expanded  and  give  it  firmness. 

"At  rest,  butterflies  do  not  all  carry  their  wings 
in  the  same  manner.  Those  that  fly  by  day  and  go 
from  flower  to  flower  in  full  sunlight,  hold  their 
wings  erect  on  the  back  and  folded  against  each 
other.  These  butterflies  are  also  recognized  by  their 
brilliant  coloring,  their  lightness  on  the  wing,  their 
grace  of  form.  Those,1  on  the  other  hand,  that  fly 
either  by  night  or  at  evening  twilight  bear  their 
wings,  in  repose,  either  outspread  or  else  lightly 
folded  in  a  sort  of  roof-shape.  They  are  of  bulkier 
form  and  heavier  than  the  first-mentioned,  and 
sombre  hues  predominate  in  their  costume. 

"  Whether  friends  of  light  or  fond  of  darkness, 
whether  courting  the  sunshine  or  lovers  of  the  night, 
butterflies  are  invariably  very  abstemious,  finding 
all  the  nourishment  they  require  in  the  tiny  drop  of 
honey  exuding  at  the  bottom  of  a  flower.  Many 
flowers  have  long  and  narrow  mouths ;  no  insect  muz- 
zle is  slender  enough  to  reach  into  flasks  like  these 
and  lap  up  the  syrup,  and  therefore  butterflies  must 
have  a  special  instrument  adapted  to  the  purpose. 

"Thi.  instrument  is  the  proboscis,  as  fine  as  a  hair 
and  long  enough  to  reach  to  the  exquisite  drop,  how- 
ever deeply  it  may  be  hidden.  When  not  in  use,  this 

i  The  author  does  not,  either  here  or  later,  distinguish  by  name, 
as  might  have  been  done,  between  butterflies  and  moths.  The  latter 
fly  mostly  in  the  evening  or  at  night. — Translator, 


252  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

proboscis  is  kept  tightly  coiled  at  the  entrance  to 
the  insect's  mouth.  When  it  finds  a  flower  to  its 
taste,  it  uncoils  this  spiral  and  extends  the  proboscis 
in  a  long  thread  which  plunges  into  the  narrow- 
necked  bottle  and  proceeds  to  suck  up  the  coveted 
drop.  If  we  wished  to  drink  from  a  flask  of  similar 
shape,  we  should  use  a  straw  or  reed.  Its  proboscis 
is  the  butterfly's  straw  with  which  it  takes  its  re- 
freshment from  the  flowers. 

"As  with  other  insects,  the  butterfly  is  at  first 
a  larva  or  worm,  very  different,  you  understand, 
from  what  the  creature  will  afterward  become.  The 
larvae  of  butterflies  are  nothing  in  the  world  but  cat- 
erpillars." 

"Oh,  how  disgusting!"  cried  Emile,  making  a  wry 
face. 

"But  nevertheless  so  it 
is,"  proceeded  his  uncle. 
"Caterpillars,  repugnant 
creatures  to  us,  change  into 
those  magnificent  butterflies 
that  we  are  never  tired  of 
admiring.  What  was  ugly 
becomes  beautiful,  what  was 
frightful  finds  itself  the 
caterpillar  proud  possessor  of  grace 

and  charm. 

"There  are  some  caterpillars  that  have  the  skin 
quite  naked  and  mottled  with  various  colors  in  a 
manner  not  unpleasing  to  the  eye.  To  touch  these 
worms,  even  to  handle  them,  inspires  little  or  no 


CATERPILLARS  AND  BUTTERFLIES      253 

fear,  so  harmless  do  they  look.  But  there  are  others, 
of  a  larger  size,  which  carry  on  the  back,  toward  the 
rear,  a  menacing  horn,  a  sort  of  hook,  of  which  it 
seems  prudent  to  beware.  This  apprehension,  how- 
ever, is  groundless :  the  horn  is  inoffensive,  being  not 
a  weapon  but  a  mere  ornament.  Caterpillars  thus 
equipped  become  large  butterflies  flying  in  the  late 
evening  twilight. 

11  Still  others  have  an  even  more  repulsive  look, 
bristling  as  they  do  with  clusters  of  prickles  and  with 
tufts  of  long  hair.  From  these  ugly  creatures,  whose 
very  touch  would  be  so  disagreeable  to  us  and  would 
make  us  utter  cries  of  fear,  come  some  of  the  most 
beautiful  butterflies  of  our  part  of  the  world.  Such 
is  the  caterpillar  that  browses  the  leaves  of  the  net- 
tle -and  becomes  the  Vanessa  lo  or  peacock-butterfly. 
It  is  black  with  white -spots,  and  wears  a  rough  armor 
of  toothed  prickles.  The  butterfly,  the  Vanessa,  has 
wings  of  a  bright  brick-red  adorned  with  a  large  eye 
of  mingled  black,  violet,  and  blue.  Who  would  ever 
imagine,  unless  he  had  seen  the  transformation  or 
heard  about  it,  that  so  ravishing  a  creature  has  such 
an  origin? 

"But  for  all  their  hairs  and  prickles  caterpillars 
need  cause  us  no  alarm.  Nothing  about  them  jus- 
tifies the  fear  they  too  often  inspire.  No  caterpillar 
is  poisonous,  no  caterpillar  seriously  injures  the 
hands  that  touch  it.  Yet  it  is  well  not  to  repose  full 
confidence  in  hairy  caterpillars :  sometimes  the  hairs 
become  detached  -and  cling  to  the  fingers,  causing 
rather  lively  itching  sensations.  But  a  little  scratch- 


254  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

ing  ordinarily  ends  the  trouble.  Accordingly  any 
one  who  should  hereafter  be  afraid  of  caterpillars 
would  not  deserve  the  privilege  of  chasing  butterflies. 

"Every  larva  is  a  gluttonous  eater,  because  it  must 
grow  big  and  accumulate  the  wherewithal  for  its  sub- 
sequent changes  of  form.  Nor  are  caterpillars  lack- 
ing in  response  to  this  serious  duty.  The  future 
butterfly's  welfare  is  at  stake:  Made  solely  for  eat- 
ing, the  larvae  gnaw  and  browse  unceasingly.  Each 
one  has  its  own  particular  kind  of  sustenance,  its 
chosen  plant,  and  nothing  else  meets  the  require- 
ments. The  larva  of  the  Vanessa  selects  the  nettle 
and  turns  with  aversion  from  all  substitutes;  that 
of  the  Pieris,  a  white  butterfly  with  black  spots,  will 
have  only  the  cabbage ;  that  of  the  Machaon,  a  but- 
terfly with  large  wings  that  end  in  a  sort  of  tail, 
feasts  on  fennel;  and  so  of  others. 

"  After  attaining  the  full  size  assigned  to  them 
by  nature,  caterpillars,  like  other  larva?,  prepare  for 
their  transformation.  Some  shut  themselves  up  in 
a  cocoon  made  from  a  silken  thread  that  they  spin 
from  their  mouth,  while  others  content  themselves 
with  binding  together,  by  means  of  the  small  supply 
of  thread  at  their  disposal,  particles  of  earth,  bits  of 
wood,  and  hairs  plucked  from  their  own  body.  Thus 
is  obtained,  at  small  expense,  a  sufficiently  substantial 
temporary  abode.  Finally,  still  others,  especially 
among  the  butterflies  that  fly  in  the  daytime,  merely 
seek  a  retreat  on  the  side  of  some  wall  or  against 
a  tree-trunk,  and  there  suspend  themselves  in  a 
girdle  of  silk. 


CATERPILLARS  AND  BUTTERFLIES      255 

"These  precautions  taken,  the  caterpillar  strips 
off  its  skin  and  becomes  a  nymph,  but  very  different 
from  that  which  the  stag-beetle  showed  us.  The 
coleopter,  in  its  nymph  stage,  was  already  recogniz- 
able, with  its  branching  mandibles,  its  legs  folded  on 
its  stomach,  and  its  wings  enclosed  in  their  sheaths. 
The  butterfly,  on  the  contrary,  is  not  at  all  discernible 
under  the  casing  of  the  nymph.  This  nymph,  with 
skin  as  tough  as  parchment,  is  an  object  little  indi- 
cative of  its  true  nature  and  much  more  suggestive 
of  the  kernel  of  some  strange  fruit  than  of  any  ani- 
mal form.  Because  of  its  shape,  so  different  from 
that  shown  to  us  by  ordinary  nymphs,  it  has  received 
a  special  name,  that  of  chrysalis. 

"This  word  means  golden  sheath.  Sometimes, 
notably  in  the  case  of  the  Vanessa,  the  chrysalis  is 
adorned  with  gilding;  but  in  the  great  majority  of 
instances  the  suggestive  name  is  not  deserved,  a  uni- 
form chestnut  hue,  darker  or  lighter,  being  the  usual 
color  of  the  chrysalis.  Ripened  by  long  repose,  this 
species  of  animal  shell  splits  down  the  back  and  re- 
leases the  perfect  insect,  complete  in  all  its  attributes. 
The  butterfly  passes  a  few  festive  days  amid  the 
flowers,  and  before  dying  lays  eggs  whence  will 
spring  caterpillars  to  continue  the  race." 


CHAPTER  XLIX 

ANTS 

* '  A  NTS  live  in  communities,  each  containing  many 
<L\.  members,  in  underground  abodes,  where  the 
young  are  reared.  These  communities  are  composed 
of  three  kinds  of  insects :  males  and  females,  recog- 
nizable by  their  large  transparent  wings,  four  to  each 
ant;  and  the  neuters,  or  workers,  which  have  no 
wings.  These  last,  the  workers,  build  the  house, 
take  care  of  the  community,  rear  the  larvae  and  bring 
them  their  food,  distributing  it  to  each  one.  The 
others  do  not  work.  To  add  to  the  population  by 
furnishing  an  abundant  supply  of  eggs  is  all  that 
they  are  expected  to  do. 

"As  soon  as  the  rays  of  the  morning  sun  strike 
the  ant-hill,  the  workers  standing  watch  at  the  en- 
trance hasten  within,  nudge  their  comrades  with 
their  antennae  to  wake  them  up,  run  from  one  to  an- 
other, urge  them  on,  hustle  them  into  activity,  and 
put  all  the  subterranean  galleries  into  lively  com- 
motion. First  of  all,  attention  must  be  given  to  the 
larvae,  feeble  transparent  worms,  without  feet  and 
unable  to  feed  themselves  and  to  grow  unless  they 
receive  assiduous  care  from  their  nurses. 

"Accordingly,  aroused  by  the  tumult  caused  by  the 
workers  rushing  in  from  outside,  the  ants  proceed  to 


ANTS  257 

busy  themselves  with  the  larvae  and  also  with  the 
nymphs,  carrying  them  with  all  possible  expedition 
into  the  open  air  and  placing  them  where  they  will 
best  be  exposed  for  some  time  to  the  benign  influence 
of  the  sun's  heat.  After  this  sun-bath  they  are  re- 
turned to  the  darkness  and  stowed  away  in  chambers 
expressly  prepared  for  them.  And  now  is  the  time 
for  feeding  the  nurslings. 

"Just  as  little  birds  receive  the  beakful  of  food, 
so  do  the  larvae  take  their  nourishment.  When  they 
are  hungry  they  raise  themselves  a  little  and  seek 
the  mouth  of  some  one  of  the  workers  engaged  in 
ministering  to  them.  The  nursing  ant  opens  its 
mandibles  and  lets  a  tiny  drop  of  sweetened  liquid  be 
taken  from  its  mouth.  Thus,  one  suck  at  a  time, 
the  nutritive  juice  is  distributed  until  the  entire 
brood  is  fed. 

"But  carrying  the  larvae  into  the  sun  and  feeding 
them  will  not  suffice:  they  must  also  be  kept  in  a 
state  of  extreme  cleanliness.  The  workers  bestow 
upon  their  charges  the  same  tender  care  that  the 
mother  cat  exercises  toward  her  kittens.  Over  and 
over  again  they  lick  the  nursling's  body  to  give  it 
perfect  whiteness,  and  they  tug  cautiously  at  the 
wrinkled  skin  when  the  transformation  draws  near. 

"Before  casting  this  skin  the  larva  spins  itself  a 
cocoon  of  silk,  elongated  and  cylindrical  in  shape, 
pale  yellow  in  color,  very  smooth,  and  compact  in 
texture.  Under  cover  of  this  protecting  sac,  the 
worm  becomes  a  nymph.  In  this  form  the  ant  as- 


258  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

sumes  its  final  shape,  lacking  only  strength  and  a 
little  firmness.  All  its  members  are  distinct,  but 
enveloped  in  a  fine  membrane  which  it  must  strip 
off  to  become  a  perfect  insect. 

"If  you  disturb  an  ant-hill  you  will  see  the  workers 
hastening  to  carry  away  and  put  in  a  safe  place  cer- 
tain cylindrical  bodies  having  somewhat  the  appear- 
ance of  grains  of  wheat  and  very  inappropriately 
called  ant-eggs.  They  are  not  the  eggs  of  the  in- 
sect, which  are  in  reality  much  smaller;  they  are 
cocoons  with  their  contents,  larva?  at  first,  nymphs 
later. 

"When  the  time  comes  for  leaving  its  cocoon,  the 
enclosed  ant  is  unable  of  itself  to  gain  its  freedom 
by  piercing  with  its  mandibles  the  silken  envelope ; 
it  possesses  nothing  resembling  the  solvent  liquid 
which  the  silk- worm  holds  in  reserve  in  its  stomach ; 
nor  has  it  at  the  forward  end  of  its  prison-cell  a  door 
for  exit  analagous  to  the  curious  paling  provided  for 
the  great  peacock-butterfly.  It  would  perish  in  its 
silk  sack  if  the  working  ants  did  not  bestir  them- 
selves for  its  deliverance. 

"Three  or  four  of  these  mount  the  cocoon  and 
strive  to  open  it  at  the  end  corresponding  to  the 
prisoner's  head.  They  begin  by  weakening  the  tex- 
ture of  the  sac  by  tearing  away  a  few  threads  of  silk 
at  the  point  where  the  opening  is  to  be  made ;  then, 
nipping  and  twisting  the  tissue  so  difficult  to  break 
through,  they  at  last  succeed  in  puncturing  it  with  a 
number  of  holes  near  one  another,  whereupon  the 
mandibles  are  applied  at  one  of  these  holes  just  as 


ANTS  259 

one  would  apply  a  pair  of  scissors,  and  a  narrow 
strip  is  cut  away.  At  this  hard  labor  the  ants  work 
in  relays,  toiling  and  resting  by  turn.  One  holds  the 
narrow  strip  that  has  been  cut,  while  a  second  en- 
larges the  opening,  and  a  third  gently  extricates  the 
young  ant  from  its  natal  sac. 

"At  last  the  insect  comes  forth,  but  unable  to 
walk  or  even  to  stand  on  its  legs,  for  it  is  still  en- 
swathed  in  a  final  membrane  which  it  cannot  strip 
off  unaided.  The  workers  do  not  forsake  it  in  this 
new  predicament;  they  free  it  from  the  satin  enve- 
lope enwrapping  all  its  members ;  with  delicate  care 
they  extricate  the  antennae  from  their  sheaths ;  they 
disengage  the  feet  and  set  the  body  at  liberty.  Then 
the  young  ant  is  in  a  condition  to  walk  about  and, 
above  all,  to  take  nourishment,  which  it  greatly  needs 
after  all  this  fatiguing  exertion.  Its  liberators  vie 
with  one  another  in  offering  the  mouth  and  disgorg- 
ing a  little  sweetened  liquid.  For  some  days  longer 
the  workers  keep  a  watchful  eye  on  their  new  com- 
panions and  follow  them  about,  acquainting  them 
with  the  labyrinthine  passages  of  their  abode.  Thus 
instructed,  the  young  ants  mingle  with  the  others 
and  share  their  labors. 

"The  nurses  remaining  at  home  to  perform  the 
household  duties  depend  for  their  rations  on  the 
workers  that  go  out  to  collect  supplies.  These  lat- 
ter bring  them  little  insects,  or  pieces  of  those  that 
they  have  dismembered  on  the  spot  when  the  entire 
prey  is  too  large  for  conveyance.  Whatever  they 
may  be,  these  provisions  are  passed  around  and  are 


260  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

speedily  disposed  of  by  the  assembled  company.  If 
the  working  ants  chance  to  find  ripe  fruit  or  large 
pieces  of  game  that  cannot  be  divided  into  small 
parts,  they  adopt  another  mode  of  procedure. 
Placed  in  possession  of  so  great  riches,  they  content 
themselves  with  the  juice  alone,  of  which  they  im- 
bibe copiously,  then  return  home  with  stomachs  full 
of  liquid  food  which  they  disgorge,  drop  by  drop,  as 
fast  as  their  hungry  comrades  present  themselves. 

''The  ant  in  need  of  nourishment  strikes  rapidly 
with  its  antennae  those  of  the  ant  expected  to  render 
the  desired  assistance.  Presently  they  are  seen  to 
approach  each  other  with  open  mouths  and  tongues 
out  in  readiness  for  the  transfer  of  the  nutritive 
liquor  from  one  to  the  other.  During  this  operation 
the  ant  receiving  the  mouthful  of  sustenance  keeps 
up  an  uninterrupted  caressing,  with  fore  legs  and 
antennae,  of  the  ant  ministering  to  its  needs. 

"Who  is  not  familiar  with  the  lice  that  infest 
plants,  assembled  in  dense  groups  that  contain  each 
more  members  than  one  could  easily  count!  There 
are  black  lice  on  the  beanstalks,  green  ones  on  the 
rosebushes,  their  stomachs  carrying,  behind,  two  lit- 
tle tubes  whence  oozes  from  time  to  time  a  tiny  drop 
of  liquid.  This  liquid  is  the  ant's  main  dependence 
for  food.  Let  us  follow  an  ant  on  its  rounds  among 
the  plant-lice. 

"It  goes  hither  and  thither  among  the  motionless 
herd,  which  is  nowise  disturbed  by  its  presence. 
Having  found  what  it  is  after,  the  ant  stations  itself 
close  to  one  of  the  lice,  which  it  proceeds  to  caress 


ANTS  261 

with  gentle  taps  of  its  antennae  on  the  little  creature's 
stomach,  first  on  one  side,  then  on  the  other.  The 
milch-louse  allows  itself  to  be  seduced  by  these 
friendly  overtures,  and  a  drop  of  liquid  oozes  out  at 
the  end  of  the  tubes,  the  ant  sucking  it  up  at  once. 
A  second  louse  is  visited,  and  it  too  is  solicited  in  the 
same  caressing  fashion.  It  yields  its  drop  of  liquid 
and  lets  itself  be  milked,  after  which  the  ant  passes 
without  delay  to  a  third  louse,  which  it  coaxes  in  like 
manner.  A  fourth,  probably  already  drained,  with- 
stands the  wheedling,  whereupon  the  ant,  perceiving 
that  nothing  is  to  be  hoped  for  there,  proceeds  to  a 
fifth  member  of  the  herd  and  obtains  what  it  desires. 
A  few  of  these  mouthfuls  are  enough  to  satisfy  an 
ant,  and  then  it  returns  to  its  home. 

11  Certain  ants  are  great  stay-at-homes:  for  them 
it  would  be  a  painful  infliction  to  have  to  go  out  into 
the  world.  In  order  to  spare  themselves  this  neces- 
sity they  raise  plant-lice  and  pasture  them  in  en- 
closures very  near  the  ant-hill  so  that  the  milking 
may  be  done  at  leisure.  These  herded  plant-lice  are 
their  precious  possession,  and  the  community  is  more 
or  less  rich  as  it  owns  more  or  less  of  this  property. 
It  constitutes  the  ants'  flocks  and  herds,  their  cows 
and  goats.  They  build  underground  stables  among 
the  grass-roots,  and  there  keep  the  plant-lice  which 
they  obtain  from  a  distance,  just  as  we  gather  our 
domestic  animals  under  the  roof  of  barn  or  fold. 

* '  Others  display  an  even  more  -curious  ingenuity : 
they  take  possession  of  the  lice  living  on  some  branch 
or  twig  of  a  growing  bush,  and,  jealously  watchful 


262  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

of  their  cattle,  suffer  no  stranger  to  come  and  lay 
claim  to  the  food-supply  they  themselves  are  prepar- 
ing to  appropriate.  With  their  mandibles  they  drive 
off  all  intruders;  they  patrol  the  twig  in  vigilant 
defense  and  stand  careful  guard  over  their  herds. 
If  the  danger  becomes  too  menacing,  they  hasten  to 
carry  away  their  livestock  and  pasture  it  elsewhere, 
in  a  safe  place. 

"Or,  as  still  another  device,  they  take  little  pellets 
of  earth  and  build  around  the  twig  a  sort  of  pavilion, 
a  structure  with  a  very  narrow  opening,  a  sheep-fold, 
in  a  word,  with  a  few  leaves  growing  inside  it  and 


Texas    Red    Ant 


furnishing  sustenance  to  the  enclosed  flock.  In  this 
quiet  retreat  the  proprietors  milk  their  ewes,  safely 
sheltered  from  rain  and  sun  and,  most  important  of 
all,  from  alien  ants. 

"We  have  in  this  region  a  rather  large  reddish 
ant  known  as  the  red  ant  or  Amazon  ant,  which  can- 
not without  help  build  its  house,  raise  its  larvas,  pro- 
cure food,  or  even  eat  food;  but  with  its  hooked  man- 
dibles it  is  admirably  equipped  for  fighting  and  pil- 
lage. Slaves  are  the  object  of  its  predatory  raids, 
slaves  to  feed  it,  to  go  out  after  provisions,  to  build 
the  ant-hill,  and  to  rear  the  young.  A  small  black 


ANTS  263 

or  drab  ant  is  the  object  of  its  slave-hunting  ex- 
cursions. 

"In  battalions  of  some  thousands  each  the  reds  go 
forth  in  quest  of  a  nest  of  drabs.  They  break  into 
the  ant-hill  notwithstanding  its  occupants'  resist- 
ance, and  sack  the  underground  city.  Presently 
they  take  their  departure,  each  with  his  plunder  be- 
tween his  mandibles.  They  carry  away,  not  the  full- 
grown  ants,  since  these  could  not  be  trained  to  serve 
in  the  strange  ant-hill  and  would  speedily  make  their 
way  back  to  their  former  home,  but  the  young  ones, 
and  the  nymphs  shut  up  in  their  cocoons. 

1  'Hatched  in  the  domicile  of  the  reds,  the  ants  is- 
suing from  the  stolen  cocoons  look  upon  the  natal 
ant-hill  as  their  own  and  there  fulfil  their  customary 
duties  with  diligence.  They  go  out  after  provender, 
undertake  all  building  operations,  care  for  the  larvae 
of  the  Amazon  ants,  and  feed  their  big  and  stupid 
conquerors  who,  once  in  possession  of  enough  slaves, 
never  leave  home  again." 


CHAPTER  L 

THE   ANT-LION 

/^\N  the  margin  of  ponds  and  streams  we  may  see, 
V>>/  flying  from  one  bulrush  to  another,  certain  in- 
sects with  large-  transparent  wings  and  abdomen 
long  and  slender  like  a  piece  of  string.  Some  are  of 
a  bronze  green  color,  others  of  a  splendid  indigo  blue, 
while  still  others,  somewhat  larger,  are  clothed  in 


A  Common  Dragon-fly,  Natural  Size 

mingled  black  and  yellow.  They  are  called  libellu- 
lids  or,  more  commonly,  dragon-flies,  and  also  devil 's 
darning-needles. 

"Do  you  recognize  the  insect?  Haven't  you  ever 
run  after  it?  Perched  on  a  reed  that  trembles  in 
the  current,  it  seems  to  be  dozing  and  waiting  for 

264 


THE  ANT-LION  265 

you,  its  wings  extended  to  the  utmost.  Your  hand 
darts  out  to  seize  it.  Good-bye,  darning-needle !  It 
is  ten  paces  away  from  you." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  replied  Louis,  "every  one  has 
chased  darning-needles,  but  I  never  knew  of  any 
one's  catching  them.  And  we  don't  have  to  go  so 
far  as  the  brook  or  the  mill-pond  to  find  them, 
either." 

1 '  No ;  not  all  of  them  are  lovers  of  water.  Some, 
in  fact,  avoid  it  and  prefer  sandy  places  parched  by 
the  burning  sun.  A  modest  gray  is  their  uniform, 
but  they  make  up  for  their  lack  of  brilliancy  by  their 
curious  mode  of  life  while  they  are  still  in  the  larva 
form.  The  picture  that  I  show  you  here  illustrates 
what  these  gray  dragon-flies  look  like  at  an  earlier 
stage. 

"A  singular  creature  and  not  exactly  ingratiating 
in  appearance.  It  would  not  be  very  pleasant  to  en- 
counter one  in  a  lonely  nook  in  the  woods,  little 
adapted  though  its  size  is  for  attacking  us.  Look 
at  its  ferocious  pointed 
nippers,  opening  and 
closing  like  a  pair 
of  tweezers.  Do  they 
not  betoken  a  thirst 
for  blood?  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  little  creature 
lives  by  carnage  exclusively;  it  is  a  hunter  whose 
game  is  the  ant.  Hence  its  name  of  ant-lion,  or,  as 
it  might  be  put,  the  lion  of  the  ants. 

"Prey  of  that  sort  is  incapable  of  serious  resist- 
ance when  once  it  has  been  seized  by  those  terrible 


266  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

hooks;  but  it  must  first  be  seized,  and  there  is  the 
difficulty.  The  nimble  ant  scampers  off  at  the  first 
approach  of  danger,  and  if  it  should  chance  to  be 
hard  pressed  it  has  only  to  run  up  a  blade  of  grass 
and  there  be  out  of  reach.  The  ant-lion,  on  its  part, 
heavy  of  paunch  and  short  of  leg,  drags  itself  along 
very  awkwardly;  and,  moreover,  if  it  ever  under- 
takes to  get  over  the  ground — a  rare  occurrence — it 
always  moves  backward,  which  is  not  what  might  be 
called  a  speedy  gait  and  does  not  adapt  itself  to  keep- 
ing the  object  of  one's  pursuit  always  in  sight. 

"The  chase  being  thus  rendered  impracticable, 
there  remain  the  snare  and  the  ambuscade.  The 
creature  must  capture  by  cunning  what  its  sluggish- 
ness of  movement  makes  it  impossible  to  get  posses- 
sion of  otherwise.  Let  us  see  what  form  this  cun- 
ning takes. 

"Hunt  at  the  base  of  sun-exposed  walls  and  rocks, 
and  if  you  find  there  some  little  nook  with  very  fine 
and  dry  sandy  soil,  the  ant-lion  will  seldom  fail  to 
be  there  too.  Its  abode  is  easily  recognized  by  the 
regular  funnel-shaped  hollow  scooped  in  the  ground. 
The  insect  itself  is  invisible,  being  hidden  under  the 
sand  at  the  bottom  of  the  excavation. 

"With  the  blade  of  a  knife  thrust  obliquely  into 
the  ground  lift  up  the  bottom  of  the  funnel,  and  you 
will  have  the  little  creature,  rather  abashed  at  first 
by  the  sudden  destruction  of  its  retreat,  but  soon 
recovered  and  striving  to  hide  itself  in  the  soil  by 
a  backward  movement.  Make  haste  to  take  it  and 
put  it  into  a  glass  under  a  layer  of  fine  sand  like  that 


THE  ANT-LION  267 

beneath  which  you  found  it.  There  at  your  leisure 
you  can  watch  it  as  it  hollows  out  its  funnel,  a  pit- 
fall for  catching  ants.  You  will  see  it  put  into  prac- 
tice the  cunning  wiles  of  an  ambushed  hunter. 

"Let  us  for  a  moment  stand  as  onlookers,  men- 
tally at  least,  while  this  work  goes  forward.  Placed 
on  a  bed  of  sand  and  restored  from  its  former  dis- 
may, the  ant-lion  proceeds  to  plunge  its  belly  half- 
way into  the  soil;  then,  with  this  substitute  for  a 
plowshare,  and  always  moving  backward,  it  draws  a 
circular  furrow.  Returning  to  its  starting-point  it 
draws  a  second  furrow  close  to  the  first,  then  a  third 
next  to  the  second,  and  so  on  with  a  great  many  more, 
each  one  of  smaller  circumference  than  the  preced- 
ing, so  that  they  all  together  form  a  spiral  which  con- 
stantly approaches  the  center;  and  as  this  living 
plow  is  driven  deeper  and  deeper  at  each  circuit,  and 
throws  outward  the  soil  that  it  turns  up,  the  final 
result  is  a  funnel  of  about  two  inches  in  diameter  and 
somewhat  less  in  depth.  There  you  have  the  ant- 
lion's  trap,  the  treacherous  pitfall  in  which  the  ants 
are  caught. 

"Of  course  the  huntsman  employing  such  a  device 
as  this  must  himself  keep  well  out  of  sight.  The  ant- 
lion  is  too  well  versed  in  its  art  to  violate  this  ele- 
mentary principle.  It  crouches  down  under  the  sand 
at  the  lowest  point  of  the  upturned  funnel,  with  only 
its  nippers  showing,  and  these  are  pressed  close  to 
the  ground,  but  wide  open  and  ready  to  seize  any 
luckless  ant  that  may  chance  to  tumble  down  the  in- 
cline. Although  the  horrible  pincers  are  exposed, 


268  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

they  are  not  likely  to  excite  suspicion,  being  easily 
mistakable  from  the  edge  of  the  excavation  for  some 
stray  bits  of  dead  leaves. 

"  These  preparations  completed,  the  insect  lies  in 
wait,  perfectly  motionless.  Its  patience  and  its  hun- 
ger are  subjected  to  prolonged  trial.  Hours  and 
even  days  pass  with  no  sign  of  game.  Alas,  how 
difficult  it  is  in  this  world  even  for  an  ant-lion  to 
win  its  mouthful  of  bread ! 

"But  at  last  there  comes  an  ant,  on  business  bent 
that  takes  it  into  these  parts.  Preoccupied  with 
its  own  concerns,  it  takes  no  heed  of  the  pitfall. 
Hardly  has  it  approached  the  edge  of  the  chasm 
when  the  sand,  which  is  extremely  unstable,  gives 
way  under  the  little  creature 's  feet.  There  is  a  land- 
slide, and  with  it  down  tumbles  the  incautious  ant. 
In  mid-course  it  succeeds  by  desperate  efforts  in  ar- 
resting its  descent.  It  struggles  to  regain  the  upper 
level;  its  tiny  claws,  trembling  with  fear,  catch  as 
best  they  may  at  the  roughness  of  the  slope ;  but  as 
soon  as  touched  these  supports  yield,  and  the  down- 
rush  begins  anew  with  irresistible  impetus. 

"One  grain  of  sand,  more  firmly  planted  than  the 
rest,  offers  some  resistance.  Perhaps  safety  will  be 
found  in  this  point  of  support  if  it  continues  to  with- 
stand the  strain.  It  holds  firm,  surely  enough.  The 
ant  climbs  up  a  little,  heedful  of  its  steps  for  fear  of 
precipitating  another  slide.  It  has  almost  gained 
the  edge  of  the  excavation  and  seems  about  to  find 
its  feet  once  more  on  firm  ground.  Will  it  indeed 
escape  scot-free? 


THE  ANT-LION  269 

"Oh,  no.  The  hungry  watcher  at  the  bottom  of 
the  funnel  will  have  something  to  say  on  that  subject. 
He  intends  to  make  a  good  dinner  on  the  ant.  If 
things  had  followed  their  customary  course  and  the 
imprudent  victim,  caught  in  the  trap,  had  continued 
to  slide  down  until  within  reach  of  the  nippers,  these 
would  have  seized  their  prey  without  further  for- 
mality ;  but  since  the  game  seems  about  to  escape,  it 
is  the  huntsman's  part  to  employ  the  manoeuvres  re- 
served for  difficult  cases. 

"The  ant-lion's  head  is  flat  and  somewhat  shovel- 
shaped.  The  insect  plunges  it  into  the  sand  and 
then,  with  a  sudden  movement  of  the  neck,  throws  the 
shovelful  up  into  the  air  so  that  it  will  come  down 
again  on  the  ant.  Other  shovelfuls  follow  in  quick 
succession,  better  and  better  directed,  and  fall  back 
in  a  hail-storm  on  the  now  nearly  exhausted  ant. 

"Against  this  shower  of  sand  resistance  is  impos- 
sible when  one  stands  on  a  treacherous  footing  that 
gives  way  at  each  attempt  to  escape.  The  poor  vic- 
tim is  swept  away  and  rolls  to  the  bottom  of  the 
funnel.  Instantly  the  nippers  seize  their  prey,  and 
all  is  over.  The  huntsman  goes  to  his  dinner,  not 
gnawing  the  fruit  of  his  patient  skill,  since  it  is  too 
tough  for  that,  but  sucking  the  juice  like  the  refined 
epicure  he  is. 

"When  there  is  nothing  left  of  the  ant  but  a  dry 
husk,  the  ant-lion  loads  it  on  to  his  head  and  with 
an  upward  toss  throws  it  out  of  the  funnel,  in  order 
not  to  defile  his  place  of  ambush  with  a  useless 
corpse  which  might  arouse  the  distrust  of  passers-by. 


270  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

Then  a  little  careful  mending  restores  the  pitfall  to 
its  former  mobility,  and  the  huntsman  waits  patiently 
for  another  ant  to  take  a  false  step  and  slide  down 
into  his  lair. ' ' 


CHAPTER  LI 

VENOMOUS    ANIMALS 

1  *  A  MONG  venomous  animals  there  are  some  whose 
A\.  poisoned  weapon  has  no  other  purpose  than  to 
serve  as  a  means  of  defense.  Such  is  the  bee,  the 
worker  in  honey  of  our  hives ;  such  also  is  the  burly, 
hairy  bumblebee,  which  also  gathers  a  store  of  honey, 
but  keeps  it  underground  in  rude  little  pots  of  wax. 
Let  us  not  molest  them  at  their  task,  either  inten- 
tionally or  otherwise,  and  they  will  not  molest  us. 
If  we  irritate  them,  they  straightway  draw  on  the 
aggressor  and  stab  him  with  their  venomous  dagger. 
This  weapon  they  carry  for  defense,  not  for  attack. 

"But  there  are  other  and  more  redoubtable  crea- 
tures that  use  their  venom  for  killing  quickly,  and 
without  any  dangerous  struggle  on  the  victim's  part, 
the  prey  on  which  they  feed.  Of  course  the  offensive 
weapon  is  capable  of  becoming  also  a  defensive  one 
in  moments  of  peril:  that  which  serves  to  kill  the 
prey  serves  likewise  to  repel  the  enemy.  Among 
animals  making  this  double  use  of  their  venomous 
weapon,  first  for  attack  and  then  for  defense,  let  us 
note  the  scorpion  and  the  viper. 

"The  scorpion  is  a  hideous  creature  and  of  in- 
terest to  us  solely  on  account  of  its  sting.  It  has  a 
flattened  stomach,  dragging  on  the  ground,  and  no 

271 


272 


FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 


distinct  head.  In  reality  it  has  a  head,  but  so  little 
differentiated  from  the  rest  of  its  body  as  to  give  a 
truncated  appearance  to  the  whole.  On  each  side  are 
four  feeble  legs,  and  in  front  a  big  pair  of  nippers 
like  those  of  the  crab.  Behind  is  a  sort  of  jointed 
tail,  the  terminal  joint  of  which,  more  swollen  than 
the  others,  serves  as  reservoir  for  the  venom.  It 
ends  in  a  hook,  very  sharp  and  with  a  microscopic 
perforation  at  the  point,  from  which  the  venomous 
fluid  escapes  at  the  instant  of  attack. 

"In  this  jointed  tail  with  its  terminal  sting  you 
behold  the  scorpion's  implement  of  the  chase,  a  ter- 
rible weapon  which  kills  immediately,  at  one  stroke, 
any  small  game  the  animal  may  have  seized.  It  is 
carried  bent  over  on  the  back, 
ready  to  inflict  its  deadly  wound 
in  front  or  behind  with  the  sudden- 
ness of  a  released  spring.  The 
two-jawed  nippers,  of  which  only 
one  jaw  moves,  are  harmless 
despite  their  menacing  appear- 
ance. They  are  a  sort  of  tongs 
used  by  the  animal  to  hold  within 
reach  and  prevent  from  escaping 
the  prey  it  is  about  to  sting. 

"The  scorpion  is   carnivorous, 
feeding    on    all    game    adapted 
to  its  size,  such  as  wood-lice,  in- 
sects, spiders.    Endowed  with  but 
little  agility,  it  leaves  its  lair  by  night  and  under 
cover  of  the  darkness  hunts  its  -sleeping  prey.    Let 


Scorpion    Seen    from 
Above 


VENOMOUS  ANIMALS  273 

us  suppose  it  to  chance  upon  a  big  spider.  That  is 
indeed  a  succulent  morsel,  but  its  capture  involves 
danger,  for  the  spider  on  its  side  is  armed  with  two 
venomous  fangs  in  its  mouth.  Being  both  thus 
equipped  with  deadly  weapons,  which  of  the  two  will 
succumb?  It  will  be  the  spider. 

"The  scorpion  seizes  it  with  its  two  nippers  and 
holds  the  victim  far  enough  away  to  avoid  the  risk 
of  a  bite.  Then  the  coiled  tail  quickly  straightens 
out  over  the  scorpion  and  proceeds  to  inflict  a  sting 
on  the  helpless  captive.  It  is  all  over.  The  stricken 
prey  gives  a  momentary  shudder  in  its  death  agony 
and  then  collapses,  lifeless.  The  huntsman  can 
now  feast  on  his  victim  at  leisure  and  in  perfect  se- 
curity. 

"We  have  in  France,  in  the  southern  departments, 
two  species  of  scorpions,  of  which  the  smaller  and 
more  common  is  of  a  greenish  black.  Its  customary 
haunt  is  under  the  stones  at  the  base  of  old  walls, 
the  favorite  lurking-place  of  the  wood-louse  and  the 
spider;  but  it  also  very  often  finds  its  way  into  hu- 
man habitations,  where  it  hides  in  dark  corners.  In 
rainy  weather  it  snuggles  under  the  linen  laid  away 
in  cupboards,  and  even  creeps  under  the  bedclothes. 
Not  a  pleasant  experience  is  it  to  find  this  baneful 
intruder,  some  fine  morning,  in  the  foot  of  one's 
stocking.  One  shakes  out  the  frightful  creature  and 
treads  it  under  foot.  If  it  has  stung  you,  the  pain  is 
no  joke,  though  not  seriously  dangerous. 

"The  other  species,  much  larger  and  far  more  to 
be  dreaded,  is  found  almost  exclusively  in  Languedoc 


274  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

and  Provence.  It  is  straw-color  in  hue  and  inhabits 
sandy  hillocks  where  the  sun  beats  down  with  the 
fiercest  heat.  There,  under  some  large  stone,  it  digs 
itself  a  den,  a  spacious  retreat,  whence  it  issues  only 
by  night  in  quest  of  something  to  eat.  It  is  never 
known  to  intrude  into  houses,  nor  does  it  ever  leave 
the  warmth  of  its  desert  solitudes.  Unless  you  dis- 
turb it  by  lifting  up  the  flat  stone  that  roofs  its 


ton, 


Plumed  Viper,   or  Puff-adder,   One  of  the  Viperidae 


Head  and  Tail  of  Common  Viper  -with  Erect  Fangs 

abode,  you  run  no  risk  of  encountering  the  sting ;  but 
woe  to  the  reckless  one  who  should  rashly  venture  to 
rummage  in  that  retreat.  The  creature's  sting  is 
sometimes  deadly,  they  say. 

"The  viper  makes  its  home,  by  preference,  on  some 
warm  and  stony  hillside,  where  it  lurks  under  the 
stones  and  in  the  tangled  underbrush.  Its  color  is 
brown  or  reddish,  with  a  darker  zigzag  stripe  on  the 
back  and  a  row  of  spots  on  each  side.  Its  belly  is 


VENOMOUS  ANIMALS  275 

of  a  gray  slate-color,  and  its  head,  larger  than  the 
neck,  is  blunted  as  if  cut  off  in  front. 

''It  is  an  extremely  timid  creature  and  never  at- 
tacks man  except  in  self-defense.  Its  movements 
are  brusque,  irregular,  and  heavy.  Like  all  serpents 
it  feeds  on  live  prey,  especially  insects  and  small 
field-rats.  To  capture  these  quickly  and  to  deprive 
them  of  the  power  to  defend  themselves,  the  viper 
first  inflicts  a  venomous  wound,  as  does  the  scorpion. 

"All  serpents  dart  out  and  in  between  their  lips, 
with  extreme  velocity,  a  black,  thread-like  member, 
forked  at  the  end  and  of  great  flexibility.  Many  per- 
sons take  this  to  be  the  reptile's  sting,  though  in 
reality  it  is  nothing  but  its  tongue,  a  tongue  void 
of  offense  and  used  by  its  possessor  to  snap  up  in- 
sects and  also  to  express,  in  the  snake's  peculiar 
manner,  by  quickly  passing  out  and  in  between  the 
lips,  the  passions  that  agitate  the  creature.  All  ser- 
pents have  this  sort  of  tongue,  but  in  these  regions 
it  is  only  the  viper  that  possesses  the  terrible  weapon 
for  inflicting  venomous  wounds. 

' '  This  consists,  first,  of  two  fangs,  or  long,  sharp 
teeth,  situated  in  the  upper  jaw.  These  curved 
teeth  are  movable,  starting  up  for  attack,  at  the  rep- 
tile 's  will,  or  lying  down  in  a  groove  of  the  gum  and 
remaining  there  as  inoffensive  as  a  stiletto  in  its 
sheath.  Thus  the  risk  of  a  self-inflicted  wound  is 
avoided.  These  fangs  are  each  pierced  from  end 
to  end  with  a  narrow  channel  having  at  the  tooth's 
point  a  minute  opening  through  which  the  venom  is 
discharged  into  the  wound.  Finally,  at  the  base  of 


276  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

each  fang  is  a  tiny  sac  filled  with  venomous  liquid. 
As  with  the  bee  and  the  scorpion,  this  liquid  is  harm- 
less in  appearance,  free  from  odor,  and  without 
taste — little  else  than  water,  one  would  say.  When 
the  viper  attacks  with  its  fangs,  the  venom-sac 
presses  a  drop  of  its  contents  into  the  dental  canal 
and  the  terrible  liquid  passes  into  the  wound.  In 
short,  the  whole  operation  exactly  corresponds  to 
the  similar  procedure  I  have  described  in  speaking 
of  the  bee 's  sting. 

"Let  us  suppose  you  are  so  imprudent  as  to  dis- 
turb the  reptile  as  it  lies  asleep  in  the  sun.  Imme- 
diately the  creature  uncoils  itself  and,  with  jaws 
wide  open,  smites  your  hand.  It  is  all  over  in  a 
twinkling.  Then,  with  the  same  rapidity,  the  viper 
recoils  itself  and  settles  back  again,  continuing  to 
threaten  you,  with  its  head  once  more  the  center 
of  the  spiral  coil. 

"You  do  not  wait  for  a  second  attack;  you  beat  a 
hasty  retreat ;  but,  alas,  the  harm  is  done.  On  your 
wounded  hand  you  discover  two  tiny  red  spots,  ap- 
parently of  little  more  significance  than  the  sting  of 
a  bee.  No  cause  for  alarm,  you  say  to  yourself 
if  you  are  unacquainted  with  the  effects  of  such  a 
wound.  But  it  is  a  false  reassurance. 

"Presently  the  red  spots  are  encircled  with  a  zone 
of  livid  hue.  With  a  dull  sensation  of  pain  the  hand 
becomes  swollen,  and  gradually  the  swelling  extends 
to  the  entire  arm.  Before  long  there  follow  cold 
sweats  and  a  feeling  of  nausea,  breathing  is  ren- 
dered difficult,  vision  is  clouded,  the  intellect  is  tor- 


VENOMOUS  ANIMALS  277 

pid,  and  unless  timely  aid  is  rendered  death  may  be 
the  sequel. 

"What  is  to  be  done  in  the  face  of  such  danger? 
One  must  press  tightly  or  even  bind  fast  the  finger, 
the  hand,  the  arm,  above  the  wound,  in  order  to  pre- 
vent the  passage  of  the  venom  into  the  blood.  The 
wound  must  be  made  to  bleed  by  the  exercise  of  pres- 
sure all  around  it;  it  must  be  energetically  sucked 
to  draw  out  the  venomous  liquid.  I  have  explained 
to  you  in  speaking  of  the  bee,  and  I  now  repeat  it, 
that  venom  is  not  a  poison.  It  will  not  act,  how- 
ever powerful  it  be,  unless  it  mixes  with  the  blood. 
Sucking  it,  therefore,  is  without  danger  if  the  lining 
of  the  mouth  is  intact. 

"It  is  plain  that  if,  by  energetic  suction  and  by 
pressing  until  the  blood  flows,  we  succeed  in  extract- 
ing all  the  venom  from  the  wound,  the  latter  will 
henceforth  be  of  no  serious  importance.  For  greater 
security,  as  soon  as  possible  the  wound  should  be 
cauterized  with  a  corrosive  fluid,  such  as  ammonia 
or  nitric  acid,  or  even  with  a  red-hot  iron.  Cau- 
terization acts  in  such  a  manner  as  to  destroy  the 
venomous  matter.  It  is  painful,  I  admit,  but  one 
must  submit  to  that  in  order  to  escape  something 
worse. 

"Cauterization  falls  within  the  physician's  prov- 
ince; but  the  preliminary  precautions — ligature  to 
stop  the  spread  of  the  venom,  pressure  to  make  the 
envenomed  blood  flow,  and  suction  to  extract  the 
venomous  liquid — are  matters  for  our  personal  at- 
tention; and  all  this  should  be  taken  in  hand  im- 


278  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

mediately,  since  the  longer  the  delay  the  more  seri- 
ous the  case  becomes.  When  these  precautions  are 
taken  it  is  very  seldom  that  the  viper's  bite  has  fatal 
consequences." 


CHAPTER  LII 

THE    PHYLLOXERA 

*  *  T  N  our  talks  on  ants  a  few  words  were  said  concern- 
A  ing  their  milch-cows,  plant-lice.  You  haven't 
forgotten  those  curious  herds  with  udders  in  the 
form  of  two  little  tubes  that  emit,  from  time  to  time, 
a  sweetened  liquid.  The  ant  comes  and  milks  these 
cows,  caressing  them  as  it  does  so  with  its  two  anten- 
nae. It  fills  itself  with  their  milk,  making  its  stom- 
ach serve  the  purpose  of  a  milk-pail,  and  then  runs 
back,  all  bursting  with  the  delicious  fluid,  to  disgorge 
it  into  the  nurslings '  mouths. 

"These  ant-cows  are  watched  over  with  jealous 
vigilance;  in  case  of  need  they  are  pastured  within 
enclosures,  for  fear  of  marauders.  So  far  all  is  for 
the  best:  the  ants'  cattle  afford  us  some  passing 
amusement,  and  apparently  they  are  open  to  no 
serious  reproach.  But  if  we  pursue  our  inquiries 
further  the  plant-lice  will  reveal  themselves  to  us  un- 
der a  far  more  serious  aspect. 

"Let  us  speak  first  of  rosebush  lice.  You  wish 
to  pluck  a  rose.  Its  perfume  fills  the  air,  its  form 
and  color  rejoice  the  eye.  But  just  as  you  are  about 
to  break  the  stem  what  do  you  find  under  your  fin- 
gers? At  the  base  of  the  flower  and  all  over  the 
branch  that  bears  it,  the  superb  plant  is  contami- 

279 


280  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

nated  with  a  legion  of  green  lice;  a  host  of  odious 
vermin  has  taken  possession  of  it;  the  magnificent 
has  associated  with  it  the  disgusting.  The  eye  is 
offended;  the  fingers  recoil  before  this  species  of 
animated  bark  which  the  slightest  pressure  turns 
into  a  sticky  mush.  Let  us  pluck  the  rose  neverthe- 
less, and  before  shaking  the  lice  from  it  let  us  exam- 
ine them  a  moment. 

"They  are  light  green  in  color,  big-bellied,  and 
wingless.  With  a  little  attention  we  distinguish  the 
two  minute  posterior  horns  whence  oozes  the  liquid 
on  which  the  ants  regale  themselves.  They  have, 
underneath,  a  sucker,  straight  and  very  slender,  a 
sort  of  bore  which  they  push  into  the  tender  bark 
to  extract  from  it  the  juices  on  which  they  live.  The 
sucker  once  implanted  at  any  convenient  point,  the 
animalcule  seldom  stirs  from  that  spot.  If  it  does 
decide  to  move  a  little,  it  is  because  its  well  has  run 
dry  and  it  must  bore  another  close  beside  it.  A 
promenade  of  merely  the  length  of  the  branch  is  a 
liberty  that  only  the  most  adventurous  dare  allow 
themselves.  As  a  rule,  the  plant-louse  sticks  to  the 
spot  where  it  was  born,  to  the  very  end." 

"But  how  can  the  stem  of  a  rose  get  so  completely 
covered  with  those  little  green  lice?"  asked  Emile. 

"That  is  easily  explained,"  answered  his  uncle. 
"Plant-lice  multiply  very  rapidly,  since  each  one, 
without  exception,  from  the  first  to  the  last,  what- 
ever their  number,  becomes  capable  in  a  few  days  of 
procreating  a  family.  The  newly  born  settle  down 
beside  their  mothers,  and  are  themselves  soon  sur- 


THE  PHYLLOXERA  281 

rounded  by  their  own  progeny.  These  in  turn,  in  a 
little  while,  have  offspring  of  their  own;  and  so  on, 
indefinitely,  as  long  as  the  sea-son  lasts.  Thus  the 
stem,  the  branch,  the  entire  plant,  become  covered 
with  lice  so  closely  packed  one  against  another  that 
in  places  the  real  bark  is  hidden  by  this  bark  of 
vermin. 

"Have  you  ever  seen  a  garden-patch  of  broad 
beans  overrun  by  black  lice?  There,  better  than 
anywhere  else,  may  be  seen  the  rapidity  of  propaga- 
tion. On  that  green  expanse  appears  at  first  a  small 
black  stain,  announcing  the  beginning  of  the  inva- 
sion. It  is  a  family  of  lice  installed  at  the  top  of  a 
beanstalk,  the  tenderest  part  of  the  plant,  where 
the  insects'  suckers  can  work  to  best  advantage. 
The  gardener,  as  soon  as  he  is  aware  of  what  is  going 
on,  hastens  to  cut  off  this  part  of  the  stalk  and  crush 
it  under  his  heel.  He  hopes  to  exorcise  the  evil  by 
destroying  this  nest  of  vermin. 

"His  hope  is  short-lived.  A  few  days  later,  in- 
stead of  one  plant  invaded  there  are  dozens.  He 
lops  off  again ;  he  turns  up  the  remaining  leaves  and 
examines  them  one  by  one ;  he  crushes  what  vermin 
he  finds,  taking  all  pains  to  make  the  extermination 
complete.  Will  he  make  an  end  of  it  this  time  ?  Not 
at  all :  the  black  hordes  reappear  in  greater  numbers 
than  ever;  the  invaded  stalks  can  no  longer  'be 
counted.  A  few  lice  that  escaped  the  slaughter  were 
enough  to  infest  the  whole  patch  of  beans.  The 
foliage  hangs  down,  foul  and  withered;  the  young 
pods,  riddled  with  punctures  and  corrugated  with 


282  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

scars,  shrivel  up  and  can  grow  no  larger.  For  this 
ill  there  is  no  remedy;  the  harvest  is  ruined. 

"The  gardener  pulls  it  all  up  and  throws  it  on  the 
dung-hill.  His  care  and  vigilance  have  been  unable 
to  arrest  the  invasion.  In  vain  he  crushed  legions  at 
a  time  under  his  angry  heel :  in  a  few  days  the  half- 
dozen  survivors  had  propagated  a  larger  colony 
than  ever.  Man  is  hardly  in  a  position  to  contend 
successfully  against  this  lowly  vermin  which  braves 
extinction  by  virtue  of  its  countless  numbers. 

"As  I  told  you,  the  plant-louse  does  not  like  to 
change  its  place.  It  plants  its  sucker  on  the  very 
spot  where  it  has  just  been  born,  and  thenceforth 
sticks  to  that  spot,  filling  its  stomach  with  sap  and 
surrounding  itself  with  a  family.  This  love  of  re- 
pose explains  to  us  very  well  how  the  twig  of  a  rose- 
bush or  the  top  of  a  beanstalk  undergoes  a  progres- 
sive colonization ;  but  it  does  not  account  for  the  dis- 
tant propagation  of  the  species. 

"With  its  home-keeping  habits  the  insect  ought 
to  be  confined  within  narrow  limits,  on  a  single  leaf 
and  not  on  all  leaves,  on  one  rosebush  and  not  on 
the  neighboring  rosebushes.  But  as  a  matter  of  fact 
it  is  disseminated  everywhere.  When  one  patch 
of  beans  becomes  infested,  those  in  the  neighborhood 
are  equally  unfortunate;  when  one  rosebush  shows 
a  colony  of  plant-lice,  all  those  around  it  are  simi- 
larly visited.  No  vegetable  growth  can  defend  it- 
self from  the  pest.  How,  then,  is  it  that  this  obese 
animalcule,  which  totters  with  fatigue  after  one  step 
forward,  succeeds  in  passing  from  rosebush  to  rose- 


THE  PHYLLOXERA  283 

bush,  from  garden  to  garden?  By  what  means  is 
it  able  to  spread  in  all  directions  without  limit? 

''Let  us  examine  a  number  of  rosebushes,  and  we 
shall  have  a  prompt  answer  to  our  question.  In  ad- 
dition to  the  wingless  plant-lice,  big  of  belly  and  all 
grouped  on  the  tender  twigs,  we  shall  see  others, 
green  like  the  first  ones,  but  more  elegant  in  form, 
of  greater  freedom  of  movement,  and  provided  with 
four  wings,  very  beautiful  wings  too,  diaphanous 
and  gleaming  with  rainbow  tints.  These  creatures 
are  no  lazy  sap-bibbers  forever  squatting  over  the 
well  their  sucker  has  bored.  They  are  seen  to  come 
and  go,  circulating  briskly  among  the  stationary 
herd,  inspecting  the  foliage,  passing  from  branch  to 
branch,  and  even  taking  flight  for  some  distant  goal. 
They  are  the  travelers  of  the  family.  Their  func- 
tion is  to  propagate  the  race  in  the  surrounding  dis- 
trict, with  the  aid  of  their  wings,  and  even  at  con- 
siderable distances  when  a  puff  of  wind  carries  them 
thus  far. 

"Two  classes,  then,  dissimilar  though  related,  are 
to  be  noted  among  the  green  lice  of  the  rosebush  and 
the  black  ones  of  the  beanstalk,  as  also  among  count- 
less others.  The  members  of  one  class  have  no 
wings;  they  pass  their  lives  where  they  were  born, 
and  multiply  in  serried  legions.  Those  of  the  other 
class,  which  is  relatively  small,  are  equipped  with 
wings.  Confined  to  no  one  spot,  they  fare  forth  as 
some  passing  breeze  or  their  own  strength  of  wing 
may  determine,  and  deposit  in  favorable  localities 
the  germs  that  are  to  serve  each  as  the  beginning  of 


284  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

a  community  of  wingless  plant-lice.  The  first  kind 
procreate  on  the  spot  with  a  fecundity  almost  beyond 
belief ;  the  second  take  leave  of  the  stationary  fam- 
ily and  go  out  to  start  new  centers  of  population  in 
various  quarters.  The  first  propagate  without  limit ; 
the  second  colonize. 

"To  soil  the  stem  of  a  rose  with  a  coating  of  lice 
is  not  exactly  a  capital  offense;  but  to  lay  waste  a 
field  of  beans,  the  hope  of  the  farmer,  is  a  far  more 
serious  matter.  Yet  even  that  is  as  nothing  when 
compared  with  other  depredations  committed  by 
plant-lice.  There  is  a  species  of  these  insects  that 
lives  underground,  subsisting  on  the  roots  of  the 
grape-vine.  Oh,  the  hateful  creature!  Never  has 
agriculture  known  anything  to  equal  the  ravages  it 
commits;  no  floods  or  droughts  or  inclement  sea- 
sons have  ever  wrought  such  woes.  Its  terrible 
sucker  has,  up  to  the  present  time,  caused  us  losses 
estimated  at  the  fabulous  sum  of  ten  milliard  francs. 
What  a  mouthful  for  a  miserable  little  louse  hardly 
visible  to  the  naked  eye !  And  to  think  that  the  com- 
bined efforts  of  nations  cannot  succeed  in  extermi- 
nating this  pest!  Alas,  how  feeble  is  mere  force 
when  confronted  with  the  exceedingly  minute  in- 
finitely multiplied ! 

"This  destroyer  of  the  vine  is  known  as  the  phyl- 
loxera, a  name  strange  to  our  tongue,  but  losing 
nothing  of  its  impressiveness  in  translation.  'Phyl- 
loxera' means  'witherer  of  leaves.'  The  plant-louse 
thus  denominated  does  indeed  cause  the  foliage  of 
the  vine  to  wither  up — not  acting  on  the  leaves  di- 


THE  PHYLLOXERA 


285 


rectly,  it  is  true,  but  attacking  the  roots.  These, 
done  to  death  by  the  insect's  sucker,  cease  to  draw 
from  the  soil  the  nourishment  needed  by  the  vine. 
The  vine-stock  wastes  away,  and  with  it  the  leaves, 
which  become  yellow  and  withered. 

"It  is  not  merely  the  foliage,  then,  that  the  phyl- 
loxera dries  up ;  it  withers  and  kills  the  whole  vine. 


Vine-pest    (Phylloxera  Vastatrix) 

a,  Healthy  vine  rootlet;  b,  rootlet  showing  nodosites;  c,  rootlet  in  decay; 
d,  female  pupa;  e,  winged  female,  or  migrant.  (Hair  lines  show  natural 
sizes.) 

Moreover,  the  name  it  bears  was  not  invented  ex- 
pressly for  it,  but  was  borne  by  another  before  the 
ravager  of  vineyards  became  known.  The  louse 
that  was  first  called  phylloxera  lived  at  the  expense 
of  the  oak-tree  and  took  up  its  station  on  the  leaves, 
sucking  the  sap  from  them.  There  you  have  the  true 
witherer  of  leaves.  The  vineyard  louse  has  there- 


286  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

fore  inherited  an  old  appellation  which  fails  to  indi- 
cate fully  the  seriousness  of  the  creature's  depreda- 
tions. 

"This  last-named  insect  is  a  tiny  yellowish  louse, 
plump  of  body,  but  hardly  discernible  to  untrained 
eyes,  its  length  being  barely  three  quarters  of  a  milli- 
meter. It  lives  in  clusters  on  the  minute  ramifica- 
tions of  the  roots  wherever  the  bark  is  tender  enough 
to  enable  it  to  push  in  its  sucker.  Its  ranks  are  so 
dense  that  the  infested  rootlets  wear  a  continuous 
coating  of  vermin  which  stains  the  fingers  with  yel- 
low. It  lays  its  eggs  in  little  heaps  in  the  interstices 
that  occur  in  the  swarming  colony;  and  these  eggs 
are  oval  in  shape  and  sulphur-yellow  at  first,  but 
turn  brownish  as  the  moment  for  hatching  ap- 
proaches. 

"From  these  eggs  there  come,  in  a  few  days,  new 
layers  of  eggs,  which  settle  down  beside  the  earlier 
comers  and  add  their  own  progeny  to  the  already 
overgrown  family.  Thus,  as  long  as  the  season  con- 
tinues favorable,  these  myriad  numbers  of  successive 
generations  are  added  to  the  existing  myriads,  until 
the  thread-like  rootlets  become  completely  hidden 
by  the  accumulated  layers  of  eggs  and  the  eggs  them- 
selves. 

"Riddled  with  punctures,  the  rootlets  swell  up 
at  intervals  and  present  the  appearance  of  a  string 
of  elongated  seeds.  Thus  deformed,  fatally  injured 
in  their  delicate  suckers,  the  roots  cease  to  imbibe 
the  nutritive  juices  of  the  soil,  the  famished  vine  Ian- 


THE  PHYLLOXERA  287 

guishes  for  a  time,  putting  forth  only  feeble  shoots 
that  are  incapable  of  bearing  fruit,  and  at  last  the 
whole  plant  dries  up  and  dies.  To  secure  its  own 
prosperity  the  louse  has  killed  its  nurse." 


CHAPTER  LIII 

THE   PHYLLOXERA 

(Continued) 

'  r¥lHE  yellow  plant-louse  found  on  the  roots  of  the 
JL  grape-vine, ' '  resumed  Uncle  Paul,  * '  has  no  bent 
for  traveling:  wingless,  sluggish,  and  big-bellied,  it 
is  ill  adapted  to  locomotion.  Where  once  its  sucker 
has  implanted  itself,  there  the  creature  is  glad  to 
abifle  as  long  as  the  place  is  tenable.  But  when  the 
rootlet  dies  and  begins  to  decay,  then  a  new  refectory 
must  be  sought  out,  with  a  better-furnished  table. 
Accordingly  the  louse  has  to  move.  A  persistent 
explorer,  it  knows  how,  with  patience  and  in  course 
of  time,  to  make  its  way  through  cracks  in  the  soil 
from  one  root  to  another,  and  dares  even  to  climb  to 
the  surface,  where,  proceeding  in  the  open  air,  it 
emigrates  from  the  exhausted  vine-stock  to  the 
neighboring  one  rich  in  sap;  and  there  it  pushes 
down  to  the  roots  through  some  fissure  in  the  ground. 
"To  this  slow-goer  a  single  one  of  our  steps  would 
be  a  journey  of  excessive  length.  Therefore,  to  pro- 
pagate its  kind  far  and  wide,  it  must  have  other 
and  quicker  means  than  the  extremely  deliberate 
method  of  locomotion  just  described.  This  other 
method  for  planting  colonies  at  a  considerable  dis- 
tance has  already  been  illustrated  for  us  by  the 


THE  PHYLLOXERA  289 

green  louse  of  the  rosebush.  Like  that  species,  the 
phylloxera  has  a  special  division  of  winged  trav- 
elers, and  it  is  these  that  propagate  the  race  through- 
out the  grape-growing  district. 

"At  the  time  of  the  greatest  midsummer  heat 
there  make  their  appearance,  amid  the  throng  of 
yellow  lice  covering  the  roots,  certain  individuals 
with  longer  bodies,  which  soon  change  their  skin  and 
then  bear  on  their  sides  two  pairs  of  black  stumps, 
the  sheaths  of  four  future  wings.  These  are  the 
nymphs  destined  for  emigration.  These  nymphs 
leave  their  subterranean  abode  and  climb  up  to  the 
foot  of  the  vine-stock,  or  sometimes  even  out  upon 
the  surface  of  the  ground.  There  another  change 
of  skin  takes  place,  whereupon  we  behold  the  winged 
insect,  superior  in  form  to  its  underground  relatives. 

"It  measures  a  little  more  than  a  millimeter  in 
length,  not  including  th'e  wings.  These  latter,  trans- 
parent and  iridescent,  extend  far  beyond  the  length 
of  the  body,  and  the  upper  ones  are  wide,  rounded, 
and  slightly  smoke-colored  at  the  end,  the  lower  ones 
narrow  and  shorter.  They  are  supported  by  strong 
sinews  that  denote  great  power  of  flight.  With  its 
large,  diaphanous  wings,  its  broad  head  and  big  eyes, 
its  belly  ending  in  a  blunt  point,  and  its  yellowish 
color,  the  traveling  insect  bears  some  resemblance 
to  a  very  small  cicada.  Such,  in  brief,  is  the  phyl- 
loxera commissioned  to  propagate  the  race  at  a  dis- 
tance. 

"We  have  here  no  longer  to  do  with  the  sluggish 
pot-bellied  creature  that  needs  all  its  strength  to 


290  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

move  from  one  root  to  the  next  adjoining;  we  be- 
hold an  agile  denizen  of  the  air,  capable  of  covering 
with  the  swiftness  of  an  arrow  a  distance  of  several 
leagues,  especially  when  aided  by  a  favorable  wind. 
During  the  warm  season  of  July  and  August  these 
winged  insects  take  flight  and  settle  in  swarms  on 
the  vineyards  not  yet  ravaged.  They  alight  on  the 
leaves,  where  their  suckers  perform  their  function 
in  sober  moderation. 

' '  To  stuff  themselves  like  gluttons,  after  the  man- 
ner of  their  kindred  that  live  on  the  roots,  is  not 
their  way.  Hence  their  own  depredations  are  of  no 
importance.  Unfortunately,  however,  it  is  their  mis- 
sion to  do  us  a  most  disastrous  disservice  by  infest- 
ing, one  after  another,  the  adjacent  vineyards,  peo- 
pling the  still  unaffected  districts  with  underground 
ravagers.  All  take  part  in  this ;  all,  without  excep- 
tion, set  to  work  laying  eggs. 

"These  eggs  are  few  in  number,  it  is  true,  each  in- 
sect laying  at  most  but  half  a  score  amid  the  cotton- 
like  down  of  the  buds  and  young  leaves.  But  the 
aggregate  is  none  the  less  enormous,  since  in  this 
strange  family  we  have  thus  far  encountered  none 
but  mothers.  We  have  just  seen  that  all  the  wingless 
phylloxeras  on  the  roots  lay  eggs,  and  now  we  find 
that  all  their  winged  kindred  on  the  leaves  do  like- 
wise. 

"This  excessive  fecundity  would  in  the  end  ex- 
haust the  insect  and  result  in  its  extinction  if  there 
were  no  seasons  of  quietude  for  renewing  the  vital- 
ity of  the  race.  Yellowish  in  color  like  the  eggs  of 


THE  PHYLLOXERA  291 

the  underground  phylloxera,  those  of  the  winged 
insect  are  of  two  kinds :  one  of  a  larger  size,  the  other 
only  about  half  as  large.  The  first  produce  females, 
the  second  males.  Here,  at  last,  we  have  the  two 
sexes,  whose  cooperation  will  assure  indefinite  pros- 
perity to  the  race.  That  is  the  normal  order  gov- 
erning all  animal  life. 

"But  what  queer  little  creatures!  Yellow,  wing- 
less, stubby,  they  look  like  the  lice  on  the  roots,  but 
even  smaller.  These  phylloxeras  of  the  third  kind 
are  dwarfs  in  a  family  of  dwarfs.  They  have  no 
stomachs  for  digesting,  no  suckers  for  puncturing 
the  leaves  and  extracting  their  sap.  Self -nourish- 
ment, however  slight,  is  not  at  all  their  affair.  The 
laying  of  eggs  that  shall  renew  the  vigor  of  the 
race,  the  placing  of  them  where  they  will  be  safe, 
and  then  a  speedy  death — that  is  the  sole  purpose 
of  their  brief  span  of  life. 

"For  some  days  these  dwarfs,  male  and  female, 
wander  over  the  vines  and  mate,  one  with  another; 
then,  in  the  fissures  of  the  wrinkled  bark,  the  moth- 
ers lay  each  an  egg,  a  single  egg,  of  enormous  size 
in  comparison  with  the  smallness  of  the  layer, 
greenish  in  color  and  sprinkled  with  fine  black  spots. 
This  egg  takes  the  name  of  ' winter  egg,'  being 
destined  to  pass  the  cold  season  fastened  by  a  little 
hook  to  the  vine's  bark.  After  this  the  layer  of 
the  egg  shrivels  up  into  a  reddish  point  and 
dies." 

"But  how  do  these  eggs  manage  to  get  through 
the  winter  without  freezing ? ' '  asked  Louis.  * '  Hens ' 


FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

eggs  or  birds '  eggs  would  be  good  for  nothing  after 
being  left  out-doors  from  autumn  till  spring. ' ' 

"That  is  true,"  assented  Uncle  Paul;  " neverthe- 
less these  minute  germs  of  future  insect  life  seldom 
fail  to  hatch  when  warm  weather  returns.  From 
them  come  plant-lice  like  those  on  the  roots  of  the 
vine.  Each  new-born  louse  crawls  down  the  natal 
vine,  hunts  around  on  the  ground  until  it  finds  a 
crack  in  the  soil,  and  then  makes  its  way  through 
this  fissure  to  settle  at  last  on  a  rootlet,  into  which 
it  plunges  its  sucker.  At  ease  thenceforth  beneath 
the  surface  of  the  ground  and  in  the  bosom  of  abun- 
dance, it  does  not  long  remain  alone.  Close  to  its 
fixed  position  it  deposits  its  little  heap  of  yellow 
eggs,  whence  there  quickly  issues  a  new  generation. 
In  like  manner  each  member  of  the  family  surrounds 
itself  with  a  family  of  its  own ;  and  so  on  by  several 
successive  repetitions  of  the  process  until,  from  hav- 
ing but  a  single  occupant  at  first,  a  root  speedily  be- 
comes covered  with  a  legion  of  destroyers.  To  this 
population  of  recent  origin  we  must  not  forget  to 
add  the  older  inhabitants  that  have  passed  the  win- 
ter under  ground  and  have  only  waited  for  the  re- 
turn of  the  warm  season  to  resume  their  own  laying 
of  eggs  on  the  roots  of  the  vine. 

"Let  us  recapitulate  these  singular  ways  of  the 
phylloxera.  The  species  comprises  three  forms  of 
insects,  each  having  its  own  peculiar  structure,  its 
manner  of  life,  its  separate  function.  The  custom- 
ary animal  unity  is  here  a  trinity :  three  different  in- 
sects are  grouped  in  a  single  species. 


THE  PHYLLOXERA  293 

"The  sedentary  members  are  wingless  and  live  on 
the  roots.  All  lay  eggs  and  are  followed  by  several 
generations  likewise  capable  of  laying  eggs.  Under 
the  pricking  of  their  collective  suckers,  numberless 
in  the  aggregate,  vineyards  are  ruined.  There  we 
have  the  formidable  foe,  the  ravager  whose  sucker^ 
hardly  visible  to  the  naked  eye,  has  already  cost  us 
more  than  ten  milliard  francs. 

"The  migrating  members  are  furnished  with  large 
wings.  They  live  on  the  leav&s  and  lay  each  a  small 
number  of  eggs  in  the  down  of  the  buds.  Like  their 
sedentary  kinsfolk,  they  all  lay  eggs.  Their  peculiar 
office  is  to  disseminate  the  race  from  one  vineyard  to 
another. 

"The  members  endowed  with  sex  come  under  the 
operation  of  the  general  law:  they  are  divided  into 
male  and  female.  Unprovided  with  wings,  sucker, 
or  stomach,  they  wander  over  the  vine  without  tak- 
ing any  nourishment.  Each  mother  lays  a  single 
egg,  the  winter  egg,  whence  issues  in  the  spring  a 
sedentary  phylloxera,  which  makes  its  way  down  to 
the  roots,  establishes  itself  there,  and  becomes  the 
head  and  center  of  a  new  colony. 

"How  contend  against  this  foe  which,  by  reason 
of  its  numbers  and  its  underground  abode,  defies  our 
attempts  to  exterminate  it?  Three  principal  meth- 
ods are  employed.  In  the  lowlands  the  vineyards 
are  flooded  and,  kept  under  a  good  depth  of  water 
throughout  the  winter.  This  submersion  causes  the 
death  of  the  phylloxera  at  the  roots  of  the  plant.  As 
a  second  method,  through  holes  bored  to  the  roots 


294  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

the  soil  is  injected  with  an  asphyxiating  fluid  called 
sulphur  of  carbon,  the  fumes  of  which  instantly  kill 
all  insects  that  they  reach.  The  difficulty  is  to  do  a 
thorough  job  and  leave  no  survivors.  A  third  de- 
vice is  employed  by  those  who  import  from  America 
certain  wild  vines  much  hardier  than  our  cultivated 
ones,  but  producing  inferior  fruit.  These  American 
plants  resist  the  attacks  of  the  phylloxera,  and  con- 
tinue to  flourish  where  our  vines  would  succumb. 
On  these  wild  stocks,  as  soon  as  they  are  well  rooted, 
are  grafted  our  native  vines,  and  thus  is  obtained 
a  grape-vine  of  two-fold  quality,  resisting  by  the 
hardy  nature  of  its  root  the  phylloxera's  assaults, 
and  bearing,  on  its  engrafted  shoots,  the  incompar- 
able fruit  of  our  old  vineyards." 


CHAPTER  LIV 

NOCTURNAL  BIRDS   OF   PREY 

fT^HE  brown  owl,  the  horned  owl,  the  barn-owl  and 
A  other  species  of  this  family,  are  known  under 
the  name  of  nocturnal  birds  of  prey.  They  are 
called  birds  of  prey  because  they  live  on  the  small 
animals  that  they  catch,  such  as  rats  and  mice,  both 
those  that  infest  our  houses  and  those  that  live  in 
the  fields.  Owls  are,  among  birds,  what  cats  are 
among  quadrupeds, — the  inveterate  foes  of  all  those 
small  rodents  of  which  the  mouse  is  our  most  fa- 
miliar example. 

' '  The  French  language  has  recognized  this  analogy 
in  its  term  chat-huant l  (hooting  cat)  applied  to  a 
certain  kind  of  owl.  This  bird  is,  in  some  sort,  a 
cat  in  its  manner  of  living,  a  cat  that  flies  and  that 
utters  a  long-drawn  cry  like  a  plaintive  howl.  It 
is  nocturnal;  in  other  words,  it  keeps  itself  hidden 
by  day  in  some  obscure  retreat,  whence  it  comes 
forth  only  at  nightfall,  to  hunt  in  the  twilight  and 
under  the  rays  of  the  moon. 

"Owls  have  eyes  of  remarkable  size,  round,  and 
both  in  a  frontal  position  instead  of  being  placed 
one  on  each  side  of  the  head.  A  broad  rim  of  fine 
feathers  encircles  each  eye.  The  reason  for  their 

i  The  corresponding  English  term  is  "screech-owl." — Translator. 


£96 


FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 


great  size  is  found  in  the  bird's  nocturnal  habits. 
Having  to  seek  its  food  by  a  very  feeble  light,  it 
must,  in  order  to  see  with  any  distinctness,  have  eyes 
that  admit  as  much  light  as  possible;  that  is,  eyes 
that  open  very  wide. 

"But  this  wide-openness  of  the  eyes,  so  advanta- 
geous by  night,  is  a  serious  inconvenience  to  the  owl 
^^^^^^^_  in   the  bright  light  of 

day.  Dazzled,  blinded, 
by  tbe  sun's  rays,  the 
bird  of  darkness  keeps 
itself  in  hiding  and 
dares  not  venture 
forth;  but  if  forced  to 
do  so,  it  observes  the 
utmost  circumspection, 
flying  with  cautious 
hesitation  and  by  -short 
stages.  The  other  birds, 
those  accustomed  to 
broad  daylight,  come 
and  insult  it  at  will.  Robin  redbreast  and  the 
tomtit  are  the  first  to  pay  their  compliments  in  this 
manner,  and  are  followed  by  the  chaffinch,  the  jay, 
and  many  others." 

"And  doesn't  the  owl  do  anything  to  get  even 
with  them?"  asked  Jules. 

"Very  little,"  replied  his  uncle.  "Perched  on  a 
branch  of  some  tree,  the  night  bird  answers  its  ag- 
gressors by -a  grotesque  balancing  of  its  body,  turn- 
ing its  large  head  this  way  and  that  in  a  ridiculous 


Barn-owl 


NOCTURNAL  BIRDS  OF  PREY  297 

fashion,  and  rolling  its  eyes  in  bewildered  alarm. 
Its  menaces  are  vain :  the  smallest  and  weakest  birds 
are  its  boldest  tormentors,  pecking  it  and  pulling 
its  feathers  without  its  daring  to  defend  itself. 

"Because  of  its  wide-open  eyes  the  nocturnal  bird 
of  prey  needs  a  subdued  light  like  that  of  early  dawn 
and  of  evening  dusk.  It  is,  therefore,  at  nightfall 
and  at  the  first  signs  of  daybreak  that  these  birds 
leave  their  retreats  and  seek  their  prey.  At  these 
hours  their  hunt  is  a  fruitful  one,  for  they  find  the 
rats  and  mice,  whether  those  that  lurk  about  our 
houses  and  barns  or  those  that  live  in  the  field,  either 
fast  asleep  or  on  the  point  of  going  to  sleep.  Moon- 
light nights  are  the  most  favorable  for  the  nocturnal 
bird's  purposes.  Such  nights  are  nights  of  plenty, 
affording  opportunity  for  protracted  hunting  and 
many  captures. 

"Let  us  follow  the  owl  on  its  nocturnal  expedition. 
The  moment  is  propitious,  the  air  is  calm,  the  moon 
shines.  The  bird  leaves  its  sylvan  retreat ;  it  skims 
over  the  open  field,  the  meadow,  the  prairie;  it  in- 
spects the  furrows  where  the  field-mouse  lurks,  the 
long  gras-s  where  it  burrows,  the  ruins  of  deserted 
buildings  where  both  rats  and  mice  scamper  about. 

"Its  flight  is  noiseless,  its  silent  wing  cleaving  the 
air  without  the  faintest  sound.  It  is  careful  not  to 
give  the  alarm  to  its  destined  victims.  This  noise- 
less flight  it  owes  to  the  structure  of  its  feathers, 
which  are  silky  and  finely  divided.  Nothing  betrays 
its  sudden  coming,  and  the  prey  is  seized  without 
even  suspecting  the  enemy's  presence.  An  extraor- 


298  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

dinarily  keen  sense  of  hearing,  on  the  other  hand, 
advises  the  bird  of  all  that  is  going  on  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. Its  ears,  large  and  deep,  perceive  the  mere 
rustle  of  a  field-mouse  in  the  grass. 

' '  The  prey  is  seized  with  two  strong  claws  warmly 
clothed  in  feathers  clear  down  to  the  very  nails. 
Each  foot  has  four  toes,  of  which  three  ordinarily 
point  forward,  and  one  backward ;  but,  by  a  privilege 
common  to  nocturnal  birds  of  prey,  one  of  the  an- 
terior toes  is  movable  and  can  point  backward,  so 
that  the  claw  becomes  divided  into  two  pairs  of 
equally  powerful  grippers  when  the  bird  wishes  to 
seize,  as  in  a  vise,  the  branch  whereon  it  perches  or 
the  victim  struggling  to  escape. 

"A  blow  of  the  beak  breaks  the  head  of  the  cap- 
tured rat.  This  beak  is  short  and  hooked,  and  the 
two  mandibles  have  great  mobility,  which  enables 
them,  in  striking  against  each  other,  to  make  a  rapid 
clacking,  a  demonstration  by  which  the  bird  ex- 
presses anger  or  alarm. 

"The  mandibles  open  wide  in  the  act  of  swallow- 
ing, revealing  a  mouth  of  ample  proportions  and  a 
throat  of  excessive  width.  The  prey,  which  has  first 
been  well  kneaded  by  the  claws,  disappears  down  this 
throat,  bones  and  all.  Nothing  is  left  of  the  rat  or 
the  mouse,  not  even  the  fur. 

"Digestion  completed,  there  remains  in  the  stom- 
ach a  confused  mass  of  skins  turned  inside  out  and 
still  wearing  their  fur,  and  bones  stripped  as  clean 
as  if  they  had  been  scraped  with  a  knife.  The  bird 
then  proceeds  to  rid  itself  of  this  encumbrance  of 


NOCTURNAL  BIRDS  OF  PREY  299 

innutritious  matter.  Grotesque  retchings  indicate 
the  labor  of  this  deliverance.  Something  makes  its 
way  upward  through  the  extended  throat,  the  beak 
opens,  and  the  act  is  accomplished.  A  rounded  mass 
falls  to  the  ground,  composed  of  skins,  bones,  hair, 
scales — in  fact,  everything  that  has  defied  diges- 
tion. All  nocturnal  birds  of  prey  have  this  ignoble 
manner  of  freeing  the  stomach :  they  vomit  in  globu- 
lar form  the  residue  of  their  prey  after  the  latter  has 
been  swallowed  whole. ' ' 


CHAPTEK  LV 

THE    SMALLER    BIEDS 

ALMOST  all  the  smaller  birds  are  helpful  to  us 
in  protecting  the  fruits  of  the  earth  from  the 
ravages  of  insects.  Their  services  deserve  to  be  re- 
corded in  a  long  and  detailed  history,  but  time  for 
that  is  lacking  and  we  must  confine  ourselves  to  brief 
mention  of  a  few  of  these  valiant  caterpillar-destroy- 
ers. 

"The  titmouse,  or  tomtit,  is  a  small  bird  full  of 
life  and  showing  a  petulant  humor.    Always  in  ac- 
tion,   it    flits    from    tree 
to     tree,     examines     the 
branches  with  minute  par- 
ticularity, perches  on  the 
swaying  end  of  the  frail- 
est twig,  where  it  clings 
J  iWli.         persistently   even  though 
J J^a^^^p^ij^      hanging  head  downward, 
accommodating    itself    to 

Tufted  Titmouse 

the     oscillations     of     its 

flexible  support  without  once  relaxing  its  clutch  or 
ceasing   its    scrutiny    of    the   worm-infested   buds, 
which  it  tears  open  in  order  to  get  at  the  enclosed 
vermin  and  insect-eggs. 
"It  is  calculated  that  a  tomtit  rids  us  of  three 

300 


THE  SMALLER  BIRDS  301 

hundred  thousand  of  these  eggs  every  year.  It  has 
to  supply  the  needs  of  a  family  seldom  equalled  in 
size ;  but  the  support  of  twenty  young  ones,  or  even 
more,  is  not  too  heavy  a  burden  for  this  active  bird 
to  bear.  With  this  infant  brood  on  its  hands,  it 
must  give  constant  and  careful  inspection  to  buds 
and  to  fissures  in  the  bark,  in  order  to  catch  larvae, 
spiders,  caterpillars,  little  worms  of  all  kinds,  and 
thus  find  food  for  twenty  beaks  incessantly  agape 
with  hunger  at  the  bottom  of  the  nest. 

"Let  us  suppose  the  mother  bird  to  arrive  with 
a  caterpillar.  The  nest  is  immediately  all  in  a 
tumult:  twenty  beaks  are  stretched  wide  open,  but 
only  a  single  one  receives  the  morsel,  while  nineteen 
are  kept  waiting.  The  indefatigable  mother  flies  off 
again,  and  when  the  twentieth  beak  has  at  last  been 
fed,  the  first  has  long  since  begun  again  its  importu- 
nate demands.  What  a  multitude  of  worms  such  a 
brood  must  consume ! 

"Whole  families  of  birds  devote  themselves,  as 
does  the  titmouse,  to  this  patient  quest  for  insect 
eggs  in  the  crevices  of  tree-trunks  or  concealed  in 
rolled-up  leaves,  for  larvae  between  the  scales  of  buds 
and  in  worm-holes  in  wood,  and  for  insects  hidden 
in  cracks  and  crannies.  In  this  kind  of  hunt  the 
bird  does  not  have  to  chase  its  game  and  catch  it 
by  superior  swiftness  of  flight ;  it  must  simply  know 
how  to  find  it  in  its  lair.  To  this  end  it  needs  a  keen 
eye  and  a  slender  beak ;  wings  play  but  a  secondary 
part. 

"But  other  species  spend  their  energies  in  the  free 


302  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

open-air  chase :  they  pursue  their  game  on  the  wing, 
hunting  for  gnats,  moths,  mosquitoes,  and  flying 
beetles.  They  must  have  a  short  beak,  but  one  that 
opens  wide  and  snaps  up  unerringly  insects  on  the 
wing,  despite  the  uncertainties  of  aerial  flight;  a 
beak  in  which  the  victim  is  caught  and  held  without 
any  retardation  of  the  bird's  swift  course;  in  short, 
a  beak  with  a  sticky  lining  which  a  tiny  butterfly 
cannot  so  much  as  graze  with  its  wing  and  not  be- 
come entangled.  Above  all,  an  untiring  and  swift 
wing  is  necessary,  one  that  does  not  flag  in  the  pur- 
suit of  game  desperately  putting  forth  its  utmost 
efforts  to  escape,  and  one  that  is  not  baffled  by  the 
tortuous  course  of  a  moth  driven  to  bay.  A  beak 
inordinately  cleft  and  wings  of  extraordinary  power 
— such,  in  a  word,  should  be  the  equipment  of  the 
bird  whose  hunting  ground  is  the  vast  expanse  of 
the  open  air. 

"These  conditions  are  fulfilled  in  the  highest  de- 
gree in  the  swallow  and  the  martin,  both  of  which 
hunt  flying  insects,  pursuing  them  this  way  and  that, 
back  and  forth,  ceaselessly  and  with  a  thousand  sub- 
tle tricks.  They  catch  them  in  their  wide-open  and 
viscous  gullet,  and  continue  their  course  without  a 
moment's  pause. 

"The  bird  that  lives  on  grain  and  seeds,  the  gra- 
nivorous  bird,  as  it  is  called,  has  a  beak  that  is  very 
wide  at  the  base  and  adapted  by  its  strength  to  the 
opening  of  the  hardest  seeds.  In  this  class  are  the 
chaffinch,  the  greenfinch,  the  linnet,  the  goldfinch, 
and  the  swallow.  The  bird  that  lives  on  insects,  or 


THE  SMALLER  BIRDS  303 

the  insectivorous  bird,  has  a  beak  that  is  fine  and 
slender,  in  delicacy  proportioned  to  the  softness  of 
its  prey.  To  this  number  belong  the  nightingale, 
the  warbler,  the  fallow-finch,  and  the  wagtail.  Agri- 
culture has  no  better  defenders  against  the  ravages 
of  worms  than  these  little  birds  with  slender  beaks, 
voracious  devourers  as  they  are  of  larvae  and  in- 
sects. 

"But  the  granivorous  birds  have  certain  grave 
faults :  some  of  them  are  addicted  to  pilfering  in  the 
grain-fields  and  know  how  to  get  the  wheat  out  of 
the  ear,  and  some  even  come  boldly  to  the  poultry- 
yard  to  share  with  its  inmates  the  oats  thrown  to 
them  by  the  farmer's  wife.  Others  prefer  the  juicy 
flesh  of  fruit,  and  know  sooner  than  we  when  the 
cherries  are  ripe  and  the  pears  mellow.  Such  fail- 
ings, however,  are  amply  atoned  for  by  services  ren- 
dered. The  granivores  pick  up  in  the  fields  an  in- 
finite number  of  seeds  of  all  sorts  which,  if  left  to 
germinate,  would  infest  our  crops  with  weeds. 

"To  this  role  of  weeder  they  add  a  second  not  less 
meritorious.  Grain  and  seeds  are,  it  is  true,  their 
regular  diet;  but  insects  are  to  few  of  them  so  des- 
picable as  to  be  refused  when  sufficiently  plentiful 
and  easy  to  catch.  Indeed,  we  can  go  still  further 
in  our  commendation  of  these  birds:  in  their  early 
days  when,  feeble  and  featherless,  they  receive  their 
nourishment  by  the  beakf ul  from  their  parents,  many 
of  them  are  fed  on  insects. 

"Let  us  take  for  example  the  house-sparrow. 
Here  we  have,  it  must  be  admitted,  an  inveterate 


304  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

devourer  of  grain.  He  robs  our  dove-cotes  and  poul- 
try-yards, steals  their  food  from  the  pigeons  and 
the  hens,  and  anticipates  the  farmer  in  reaping  the 
grain-crops  near  his  house.  Many  other  misdeeds 
are  to  be  reckoned  against  him.  He  plunders  the 
cherry-trees,  commits  petty  larceny  in  the  garden, 
plucks  up  sprouting  seeds,  and  regales  himself  on 
young  lettuce  and  the  first  leaves  of  green  peas.  But 
as  soon  as  the  season  of  insect-eggs  opens,  this 
shameless  pilferer  becomes  one  of  our  most  valuable 
helpers.  Twenty  times  an  hour,  at  least,  the  mother 
and  the  father  take  turns  in  bringing  the  beakful 
of  food  to  their  little  ones ;  and  each  time  the  bill  of 
fare  consists  of  a  caterpillar,  or  an  insect  large 
enough  to  be  divided  into  quarters,  or  perhaps  a  fat 
larva,  or  it  may  be  a  grasshopper,  or  some  other  kind 
of  small  game. 

"In  one  week  the  young  brood  consumes  about 
three  thousand  insects,  larvae,  caterpillars  and  worms 
of  all  species.  There  have  been  counted  in  the  imme- 
diate vicinity  of  a  single  nest  of  sparrows  the  re- 
mains of  seven  hundred  June-bugs,  besides  those  of 
innumerable  smaller  insects.  That  is  the  supply  of 
food  required  for  rearing  only  one  brood.  Let  us* 
then,  my  children,  wish  well  to  all  the  little  birds 
that  deliver  us  from  that  formidable  ravager,  the 
insect. " 


CHAPTER  LVI 

BIRDS'  NESTS 

1  TT  is  in  the  building  of  nests  destined  for  the  rear- 
JL  ing  of  a  family  of  young  ones  that  the  bird  shows 
in  a  remarkable  way  that  wonderful  faculty  which 
enables  the  little  creature  to  accomplish,  without  pre- 
vious training,  results  that  would  seem  to  require 
the  intervention  of  reasoned  experience. 

"These  adepts  in  bird-nest  architecture  have  tal- 
ents of  the  most  varied  sort.  There  are  diggers, 
who  scoop  out  a  hollow  in  the  sand ;  miners,  who  ex- 
cavate a  little  cell  to  which  a  long  and  narrow  pas- 
sage gives  access ;  carpenters,  who  bore  into  the  trunk 
of  a  worm-eaten  tree ;  masons,  who  work  with  mor- 
tar made  of  earth  tempered  with  saliva;  basket- 
makers,  who  weave  together  small  twigs  and  fine 
roots ;  tailors,  who  with  a  filament  of  bark  for  thread 
and  the  beak  for  needle  sew  a  few  leaves  together 
into  a  cornet  for  holding  the  mattress  on  which  the 
young  brood  will  rest ;  workers  in  felt,  who  make  a 
fabric  of  down,  hair,  or  cotton,  that  rivals  our  own 
similar  products;  and  builders  of  fortresses,  who 
protect  their  nest  with  an  impenetrable  thicket  as  a 
rampart. 

"The  goldfinch,  that  pretty  little  red-headed  bird 
which  feeds  on  the  seeds  of  thistles,  builds  a  won- 

305 


306  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

derfully  wrought  nest  in  the  fork  of  some  flexible 

branch.  The  outside  is  made  of  moss  and  the  silky 
down  of  thistle-seeds  and  dande- 
lions, while  the  inside,  artisti- 
cally rounded,  is  lined  with  a 
thick  cushion  of  horse-hair, 
wool,  and  feathers. 

"The  chaffinch  builds  its  nest 
in  nearly  the  same  way,  but, 
more  mistrustful  than  the  gold- 
finch, it  covers  the  outside  of  its 
abode  with  a  layer  of  gray 
lichen  which,  merging  with  the 
lichen  growing  naturally  on  the 
American  Goldfinch  branch,  serves  to  baffle  the 

scrutiny  of  the  bird-nest  hunter. 

"The  window-swallow  makes  its  nest  in  the  cor- 
ners      of       windows, 

under    the    eaves    of 

roofs,     and     in     the 

shelter     of     cornices. 

Its   building   material 

is    fine    earth,    chiefly 

that  left  in  little  piles 

after  its  digestion  by 

earth-worms   in   fields 

and       gardens.      The 

swallow   fetches   it,   a 

beakful     at     a     time,  Chaffinch 

moistens  it  with  a  little  viscous  saliva  to  make  it 

stick  together,  and  deposits  it  in  courses,  shaping 


BIRDS'  NESTS  307 

the  structure  into  a  sort  of  hemispherical  bowl 
fastened  to  the  wall  and  having  a  narrow  mouth 
at  the  top  to  allow  the  bird  to  squeeze  through. 
Bits  of  straw  embedded  in  this  masonry  of  earth 
serve  to  give  it  greater  solidity.  Finally,  the  in- 
side is  upholstered  with  a  quantity  of  fine  feathers. 

"The  chimney-swallow  chooses  a  similar  situation 
for  its  nest  and  uses  the  same  building-materials, 
but  the  nest  itself  takes  a  differ- 
ent form.  Instead  of  a  hemi- 
spherical structure  entered  by  a 
very  small  opening,  it  builds  a  ,; 
cup-shaped  nest,  of  no  great 
depth  and  wide-open  at  the  top. 

* '  Swallows  like  to  live  together 
in  large  numbers,  so  that  their 
nests  are  sometimes  found  touch- 
ing one  another  in  colonies  of  Nest  of  a 
several  hundreds  under  the  same  cornice.  Each 
pair  recognizes  unerringly  its  own  belongings  and 
respects  scrupulously  the  property  of  others,  in  re- 
turn for  like  respect  paid  to  its  own.  There  is 
among  them  a  deep  sense  of  solidarity,  and  they 
render  mutual  aid  with  no  less  intelligence  than 
zeal. 

"Sometimes  it  chances  that  a  nest  has  hardly  been 
finished  when  it  crumbles  to  pieces,  the  mortar  used 
having  been  of  poor  quality,  or  else  the  masons, 
with  injudicious  haste,  having  had  too  little  patience 
to  let  one  course  dry  before  laying  another  on  top 
of  it.  At  the  news  of  this  mishap  neighbors  of  both 


308  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

sexes  hasten  up  to  console  the  unfortunates  and  to 
lend  their  aid  in  rebuilding.  All  apply  themselves 
to  the  task,  fetching  mortar  of  the  first  quality,  and 
straws  and  feathers,  with  such  ardor  and  enthusiasm 
that  in  two  days  the  nest  is  completely  rebuilt.  Left 
to  their  own  unaided  efforts,  the  afflicted  pair  would 
have  needed  a  fortnight  to  repair  the  disaster. 

"The  golden  oriole  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
birds  of  our  clime.  About  as  large  as  the  blackbird, 

it  has  plumage  of  a 
superb  yellow,  except 
the  wings,  which  are 
black.  In  building  its 
nest  it  selects,  in  some 
tall  tree,  a  long  and 
flexible  bough  with  a 
fork  at  the  end.  Be- 
tween the  two  branches 

European  Oriole  . 

of  this  fork  a  ham- 
mock is  woven  for  receiving  the  nest.  Strands 
of  fine  bark  that  has  become  shredded  by  long  ex- 
posure to  wind  and  weather  are  used  for  this  work 
of  art.  These  strands  or  cords  pass  from  one  side 
of  the  fork  to  the  other,  enlacing  them,  crossing  and 
recrossing,  and  thus  forming  a  sort  of  pocket,  firmly 
fixed  and  securely  hung. 

"Broad  blades  of  grass  consolidate  the  structure. 
Then  in  this  hammock  a  mattress  of  the  finest  straw 
and  having  the  form  of  an  oval  cup  is  put  together. 
The  completed  work  bears  some  resemblance  to  those 


BIRDS'  NESTS  309 

elegant  little  wool-lined  wicker  baskets  that  are  used 
as  nests  for  caged  canaries. 

"The  long-tailed  titmouse,  remarkable  for  its  ex- 
cessive caudal  development,  which  constitutes  more 
than  half  the  total  length  of  its  body,  lives  in  the 
woods  during  the  summer  season,  and  comes  into  our 
gardens  and  orchards  only  in  winter.  It  is  a  small 
bird  with  a  reddish  back  and  white  breast.  The 
stomach  is  tinged  with  red ;  the  neck  and  cheeks  are 
white. 

"Its  nest  is  built  sometimes  in  the  fork  of  a  high 
branch  in  a  clump  of  bushes,  and  sometimes  in  the 
dense  underwood  of  a  thicket,  a  few  feet  from  the 
ground ;  but  it  is  most  often  attached  to  the  trunk  of 
a  willow  or  a  poplar  tree.  Its  shape  is  that  of  a  very 
large  cocoon,  and  its  entrance  is  at  one  side,  about 
an  inch  from  the  top.  On  the  outside  it  is  made  of 
lichens  like  those  that  cover  the  tree,  in  order  to 
blend  with  the  bark  and  deceive  the  eye  of  the 
passer-by.  Fibers  of  wool  serve  to  hold  all  the  parts 
securely  together.  To  make  the  dome  of  the  nest 
rain-proof,  it  is  formed  of  a  sort  of  -thick  felt  com- 
posed of  bits  of  moss  and  cobwebs.  The  inside  re- 
sembles an  oven  with  cup-shaped  bottom  and  very 
high  top,  and  is  furnished  with  a  remarkably  thick 
bed  of  downy  feathers,  whereon  repose  from  sixteen 
to  twenty  little  birds,  arranged  with  careful  order 
in  the  restricted  space  no  larger,  at  the  most,  than 
the  hollow  of  one 's  hand.  By  what  miracle  of  parsi- 
monious economy  do  these  twenty  little  ones  with 


310 


FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 


their  mother  manage  to  find  room  for  themselves  in 
this  tiny  abode?    And  how  in  the  world  can  tails 
ever  grow  to  such  length  there? 
"The  nest  of  the  swinging  titmouse  is  still  more 

remarkable.  In 
our  country  this 
bird  is  hardly 
ever  found  except 
on  the  banks  of 
the  lower  Rhone. 
It  hangs  its  nest 
very  high,  on  the 
tip-end  of  some 
swaying  branch 
of  a  tree  at  the 
water-side,  so 
that  its  brood  is 
gently  rocked  by 
the  breeze  sweep- 
ing over  the 
river. ' ' 

"  Why,  I  should 

think,"  put  in  Emile,  "there  would  be  danger  of 
the  young  birds'  spilling  out  of  such  a  swinging 
nest." 

' '  Not  at  all, ' '  replied  his  uncle.  '  '  The  shape  of  the 
nest  provides  against  that.  It  is  a  sort  of  oval  purse 
about  as  large  as  a  wine-bottle,  with  a  small  opening 
at  one  side,  near  the  top.  This  opening  is  prolonged 
like  the  neck  of  a  bottle  and  will  at  the  utmost  admit 
one's  finger.  To  pass  through  so  narrow  an  en- 


Long-tailed  Titmouse 


BIRDS'  NESTS  311 

trance,  the  titmouse,  small  as  it  is,  must  stretch  the 
elastic  wall,  which  yields  a  little  and  then  contracts 
again.  This  purse,  as  I  have  called  it,  is  made  of 
the  cotton-like  flock  that  comes  from  the  ripening 
seeds  of  poplars  and  willows  in  May.  The  titmouse 
gathers  these  bits  of  down  and  weaves  them  together 
with  a  woof  of  wool  and  hemp.  The  fabric  thus  ob- 
tained is  not  unlike  the  felt  of  a  cheap  hat. 

"It  would  be  useless  to  seek  an  explanation  of  the 
bird's  astonishing  success  in  manufacturing,  with 
no  implements  but  beak  and  claws,  a  textile  that 
man's  skilful  hand,  left  to  its  own  resources,  would 
be  unable  to  produce;  and  this  success  the  bird 
achieves  with  no  previous  apprenticeship,  without 
hesitation  and  without  ever  having  seen  the  thing 
done  by  others.  At  the  very  first  trial  the  titmouse 
surpasses  in  its  art  our  weavers  and  fullers. 

"The  top  of  the  nest  includes  in  its  thickness  the 
end  of  the  branch  from  which  it  hangs,  with  the  ter- 
minal twigs  of  that  branch,  which  serve  as  frame- 
work for  the  nest's  vaulted  roof,  while  the  foliage 
projecting  through  the  sides  of  the  nest  protects 
it  with  its  shade.  Finally,  to  secure  greater  firmness 
of  support,  a  cordage  of  wool  and  hemp  is  passed 
around  the  branch  and  interlaced  with  the  felt  of 
the  nest.  The  inside  of  this  hanging  habitation  is 
lined  with  down  of  the  finest  quality  from  the  poplar 
tree. 

"Are  you  acquainted  with  the  troglodyte  or,  as 
it  is  more  commonly  called,  the  wren?  It  is  the 
smallest  of  our  birds,  and  it  too  is  a  master  in  the 


312  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

art  of  nest-building.  Clothed  in  reddish  brown, 
with  drooping  wing  and  upturned  beak  and  tail,  it  is 
always  frisking,  hopping,  and  twittering, — teederee, 
teeree,  teeree.  Every  winter  it  comes  flying  about 
our  houses,  frequenting  the  wood-pile,  inspecting 
holes  in  the  wall,  and  prying  into  the  densest  thick- 
ets. At  a  distance  it  might  be  mistaken  for  a  small 
rat. 

"In  summer  it  lives  in  the  pathless  woods.  There, 
under  the  shelter  of  some  big  root  that  lies  close 
to  the  ground  and  is  covered  with  a  thick  fleece  of 
moss,  it  builds  a  nest  patterned  after  that  of  the 
swinging  titmouse.  Its  materials  are  bits  of  moss, 
selected  for  the  purpose  of  making  the  nest  undis- 
tinguishable  in  appearance  from  that  to  which  it  is 
attached.  The  bird  gathers  these  materials  and 
works  them  into  the  shape  of  a  large,  hollow  ball  with 
a  very  small  opening  on  one  side.  The  interior  is 
upholstered  with  feathers. 

"The  magpie  fixes  its  dwelling  in  the  top  of  some 
lofty  tree  whence,  as  from  an  observatory,  it  can 
spy  from  afar  the  approaching  enemy.  At  the  junc- 
ture of  a  number  of  branching  twigs  that  offer  ade- 
quate support  it  plants  its  nest,  constructed  of  inter- 
lacing flexible  sticks  with  a  floor  of  tempered  earth. 
Fine  rootlets,  blades  of  grass,  and  a  few  tufts  of 
down  form  the  bedding  for  the  prospective  brood. 

"  So  far  there  is  nothing  to  differentiate  the  struc- 
ture from  ordinary  nests;  but  now  we  behold  the 
exhibition  of  a  special  talent  on  the  magpie's  part. 
The  entire  nest,  and  more  particularly  its  upper 


BIRDS'  NESTS  313 

part,  is  surrounded  by  a  thick  rampart,  a  sort  of 
fortified  enclosure  composed  of  thorny  twigs  se- 
curely intertwined.  One  would  take  the  whole  thing 
for  a  shapeless  mass  of  brushwood.  Through  this 
rampart,  on  the  side  that  is  most  strongly  defended, 
an  opening  is  left  of  just  sufficient  size  to  admit  of 
the  mother's  entrance  and  exit.  It  is  the  only  door 
to  the  aerial  fortress. 

''Let  us  turn  now  to  a  bird  that  builds  upon  piling. 
It  is  a  warbler  of  large  size,  called  the  great  sedge- 
warbler  or  river-thrush.  It  selects  a  cluster  of  four 
or  five  reeds  that  project  above  the  surface  of  a 
pond,  with  their  stalks  rooted  in  the  mud  under  the 
water  and  growing  near  together.  These  slender 
piles,  the  tops  of  which  the  bird  brings  into  such 
proximity  as  may  be  desired  and  fastens  with  con- 
necting strands,  are  made  to  bear  an  interlacing  of 
flexible  materials,  such  as  rushes,  bark-fibers,  and 
long  blades  of  grass.  It  is  a  basket-weaver's  job, 
with  a  framework  of  reeds  as  a  basis  for  the  struc- 
ture. Finally,  in  this  basket,  which  is  made  much 
longer  than  wide,  is  placed  the  nest  proper,  a  warm 
little  bed  of  cotton-like  down,  spiders'  webs,  and 
wool. 

"But  this  abode  resting  on  piles  above  the  water  is 
exposed 'to  two  dangers, — the  swaying  of  the  reeds 
which,  bent  over  by  the  wind,  might  incline  the  nest 
so  that  it  would  spill  its  contents  either  of  eggs  or 
of  young  birds;  and  secondly,  the  spring  freshets, 
which  might  rise  so  high  as  to  submerge  the  nest. 
These  dangers,  however,  have  been  foreseen  by  the 


314  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

bird.  The  nest  is  very  deep,  and  furthermore  the 
edges  of  the  opening  bend  inward  and  form  a  para- 
pet. In  this  way  is  avoided  the  risk  of  a  fall  when 
the  reeds  that  bear  the  nest  are  swayed  by  the  wind. 
Finally,  since  the  sedge-warbler  is  at  liberty  to  build 
her  nest  at  any  desired  height  above  the  surface  of 
the  pond,  she  places  it  always  high  enough  to  be 
beyond  the  reach  of  the  rising  water,  even  in  great 
floods.  One  suspects  the  bird  of  being  able  to  fore- 
see, months  in  advance,  the  coming  inundation;  for 
she  builds  her  nest  at  a  greater  or  less  elevation  ac- 
cording to  the  high-water  mark  destined  later  to  be 
reached  by  the  surface  of  the  pond. 

"The  cisticola  is  a  small  warbler  very  common  in 
the  marshes  of  Camargue,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Rhone. 
Its  nest  is  placed  in  the  middle  of  a  cluster  of  grass 
and  rushes,  and  takes  the  form  of  a  purse  with  a 
small  round  opening.  Fine  dry  leaves  form 
the  bed  on  which  the  eggs  rest,  while  other  and 
larger  leaves  are  fixed  all  around  it  to  form  an  en- 
closure, ^hif  y{no 

"For  this  work  the  bird  turns  tailor,  cutting  the 
leaves  and  lapping  them  over  one  another.  Along 
the  border  of  each  leaf  it  punches  holes  with  the  point 
of  its  beak  and  through  these  holes  it  passes  one  or 
more  threads  made  of  cobwebs  and  the  down  from 
certain  plants.  Its  distaff  for  holding  the  thread- 
namely,  the  beak — does  not  admit  of  using  very  long 
strands;  hence  the  needleful,  so  to  speak,  goes  only 
twice  or,  at  most,  three  times  from  one  leaf  to  the 
next  one.  But  no  matter;  the  sewing  is  strong 


BIRDS'  NESTS  315 

enough  to  fasten  the  whole  into  a  sort  of  purse  which 
keeps  out  the  rain. 

"The  orthotomus,  or  grass-warbler,  a  small  bird 
of  India,  is  an  even  more  skilful  tailor,  and  in  fact 
is  commonly  known  as  the  tailor-bird.  It  selects  two 
large  leaves,  still 
living  and  at- 
tached to  the 
branch  on  which 
they  grew.  These 
are  brought  to- 
gether, with  their 
longer  edges 

touching,  and  are 
sewed  border  to 
border  with  a 
strong  cotton 
thread  made  by 
the  bird's  beak. 

_.  Tailor   Bird  of  Java  and   Nest 

Ihe     seams     run 

t.i  the  length  of  the  leaves,  in  such  a  manner 
that  the  two  together,  hanging  down  as  they  do, 
form  a  conical  sac  with  its  mouth  upward.  In  this 
sac  the  nest  is  placed,  hidden  by  its  protecting 
envelope,  which  so  blends  with  the  rest  of  the 
foliage  that  even  after  a  person  has  once  found  the 
nest  he  can  with  difficulty  find  it  again. 

"In  South  Africa  there  is  a  bird  scarcely  larger 
than  our  swallow  and  known  as  the  social  republican 
from  its  living  in  large  societies  with  one  nest  in 
common.  This  nest,  a  sort  of  bird  village,  is  shaped 


316  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

like  an  enormous  mushroom,  spreading  out  all 
around  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  which  serves  as  its  stalk, 
while  the  lower  branches  also  furnish  their  support. 
This  colossal  edifice  is  of  such  bulk  and  weight  as  to 
make  a  wagon-load,  and  if  one  wishes  to  see  the  in- 
terior structure  it  must  be  chopped  to  pieces  with 
an  axe.  It  is  formed  wholly  of  dry  grass  arranged 
much  like  the  thatch  on  our  rustic  roofs. 

"Indeed,  this  structure,  built  at  public  expense  by 
all  the  associated  birds,  is  nothing  but  a  roof,  a 
dome,  destined  to  shelter  the  real  nests,  which  are 
attached  to  the  inside  of  the  thatched  covering. 
Here  are  to  be  found  a  multitude  of  round  holes  pre- 
senting all  together  somewhat  the  appearance  of  a 
honeycomb.  Each  hole  gives  access  to  a  small  cell, 
a  veritable  nest  and  the  separate  work  of  a  single 
pair.  The  grass  roof,  then,  is  built  in  common  by 
the  whole  society,  after  which  each  family  provides 
for  its  exclusive  use  a  little  apartment  attached  to 
the  lower  side  of  the  roof.  The  number  of  inhabi- 
tants may  reach  as  high  as  a  thousand. ' ' 


CHAPTER  LVII 

MIGRATION    OF   BIRDS 

the  approach  of  the  cold  season, ' '  Uncle  Paul 
resumed,  in  his  account  of  bird  habits  and  bird 
peculiarities,  "before  winter  clears  the  fields  of  in- 
sects, covers  the  ponds  with  a  coating  of  ice,  and 
whitens  the  landscape  with  snow,  thus  cutting  off  the 
food-supply  hitherto  obtainable  from  the  earth,  many 
birds,  especially  those  that  live  on  insects  or  fre- 
quent bodies  of  water  and  marshy  meadows,  take 
leave  of  their  native  land  and  direct  their  course 
southward,  where  they  will  find  a  warmer  sun  and 
a  more  assured  supply  of  food. 

"They  take  their  departure,  some  in  large  flocks, 
others  in  small  groups,  or  even  each  one  separately. 
With  no  guide  other  than  an  irresistible  impulse  too 
mysterious  for  us  to  explain,  they  traverse  by  suc- 
cessive stages  immense  tracts  of  land,  cross  seas,  and 
bend  their  course  toward  the  countries  of  the  south. 
Africa  is  the  rendezvous  of  our  birds  and  of  Euro- 
pean birds  in  general. 

"After  the  cold  season  has  passed,  with  the  first 
fine  days  of  spring  the  same  birds  return  to  the  re- 
gions where  they  were  born,  making  the  journey 
this  time  in  the  opposite  direction,  from  south  to 

317 


318  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

north.  They  take  possession  once  more  of  their 
groves  and  forests,  their  rocks  and  prairies,  which 
they  know  how  to  find  with  an  inconceivable  ac- 
curacy. There  they  build  their  nests,  rear  their 
young,  and  gain  strength  for  the  coming  journey; 
and  upon  the  return  of  cold  weather  they  go  back 
again  to  the  lands  of  sunshine. 

"These  periodical  journeys  are  called  migrations, 
of  which  there  are  two  each  year, — that  of  autumn, 
when  the  birds  leave  us  and  go  southward,  and  that 
of  spring,  when  they  fly  northward  and  come  back 
to  us.  These  semi-annual  flittings  take  place  all  over 
the  earth. 

' '  The  various  species  do  not  all  fix  upon  the  same 
time  for  their  migration,  but  each  has  its  own  cal- 
endar, from  which  it  departs  only  very  slightly. 
Some  start  well  in  advance  of  the  increasing  chill  and 
the  lessening  abundance  of  food,  while  others  do  not 
leave  their  native  land  until  driven  by  actual  neces- 
sity, when  the  cold  has  become  severe.  Thus  our 
martin  flies  away  for  Africa  as  early  as  the  month  of 
August,  whereas  the  chimney-swallow  lingers  until 
October  or  even  November. 

"The  martins  forsake  our  turrets  and  old  walls, 
our  steeples  and  belfries,  while  the  summer  heat  is 
still  intense  and  the  small  flies  on  which  they  feed 
are  still  abundant.  It  is  not,  then,  any  lowering  of 
temperature  that  drives  them  away,  nor  is  it  any 
lack  of  food  that  hastens  their  departure;  but  they 
have  a  secret  presentiment  of  the  change  of  season 
that  is  coming  in  a  few  weeks ;  a  deep-seated  unrest, 


MIGRATION  OF  BIRDS  319 

which  they  cannot  overcome,  warns  them  that  the 
hour  for  their  departure  is  drawing  near. 

"If  one  desires  to  witness  this  anxiety  that  tor- 
ments the  bird  when  the  time  for  migrating  arrives, 
he  may  do  so  by  rearing  in  captivity  a  migratory 
bird  caught  very  young.  The  captive,  though  never 
having  lived  with  its  kind  or  had  any  knowledge  of 
their  migratory  habits,  and  furthermore  having 
been  kept  in  a  cage  with  no  experience  of  cold  or 
hunger,  nevertheless,  when  the  season  for  flitting 
arrives,  shows  agitation  and  mental  distress,  and 
tries  to  escape  from  its  prison — after  remaining  so 
quiet  and  contented  up  to  that  time.  Some  inner 
voice — instinct  we  call  it — says  it  is  time  to  go,  and 
the  captive  is  eager  to  be  off.  If  the  desire  is 
thwarted,  death  follows. 

' '  To  tear  oneself  from  beloved  haunts  to  incur  the 
fatigues  and  perils  of  a  long  journey  is  undoubtedly 
a  painful  decision ;  yet  the  bird  courageously  submits 
to  the  inevitable,  but  in  the  hope  of  coming  back 
again  some  day.  The  strong  reassuring  the  weak, 
the  older  ones  guiding  the  young,  the  departing  flock 
forms  itself  into  a  caravan  and  takes  wing  for  the 
south.  The  sea  is  crossed,  the  treacherous  sea  from 
which,  at  long  intervals,  rises  an  island  as  halting- 
place.  Many  perish  in  the  crossing,  many  reach  the 
goal  worn  with  hunger  and  spent  with  fatigue. 

"The  day  for  starting  on  this  momentous  journey 
is  decided  upon  in  a  great  assembly,  toward  the  end 
of  August  for  the  window-swallow,  and  considerably 
later,  even  as  late  as  November,  for  the  chimney- 


320  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

swallow.  When  once  the  date  has  been  fixed,  the 
window-swallows  gather  together  daily  for  several 
days  on  the  roofs  of  tall  buildings.  Every  few  min- 
utes small  parties  detach  themselves  from  the  gen- 
eral conclave  and  circle  about  in  the  air  with  anxious 
cries,  taking  a  parting  look  at  their  native  haunts, 
and  paying  them  a  last  farewell.  Then  they  return 
to  their  places  among  their  companions  and  join  in 
noisy  chatter  on  the  subject  of  their  hopes  and  fears, 
all  the  while  preparing  themselves  for  the  distant 
expedition  by  a  careful  inspection  of  their  plumage 
and  a  final  touch  to  one  lustrous  feather  after  an- 
other. 

"After  several  repetitions  of  these  farewells  a 
plaintive  twittering  announces  the  fateful  hour.  The 
moment  has  come,  it  is  time  to  start.  The  flock  rises, 
the  emigrants  are  off  for  the  south.  If  one  of  them 
has  been  marked  with  a  red  string  around  the  claw 
in  order  to  be  recognized,  you  may  be  sure  you  will 
see  it  come  back  the  next  spring  and  take  possession 
of  its  nest  again  with  little  cries  of  joy  at  finding  it 
intact  and  ready  for  occupancy  after  a  few  repairs. 

"With  their  vigorous  wings  the  duck  and  goose, 
in  their  wild  state,  are  ardent  travelers.  On  a  gray 
day  in  November,  when  there  are  signs  of  snow,  it 
is  not  unusual  to  see  passing  from  north  to  south, 
at  a  great  height,  birds  arranged  in  single  file,  or  in 
a  double  file  meeting  in  a  point,  like  the  two  branches 
of  the  letter  V.  These  birds  are  a  flock  of  either 
ducks  or  geese  in  the  act  of  migrating. 

"If  the  flock  is  of  no  great  size,  the  birds  compos- 


MIGRATION  OF  BIRDS  321 

ing  it  arrange  themselves  in  one  continuous  file,  the 
beak  of  each  following  bird  touching  the  tail  of  the 
preceding,  in  order  that  the  passage  opened  through 
the  air  may  not  have  time  to  close  again.  But  if 
the  flock  is  a  large  one,  two  files  of  equal  length  are 
formed,  which  meet  at  an  acute  angle,  the  front  of 
the  moving  mass. 

''This  angular  arrangement,  of  which  we  find  ex- 
amples in  the  ship's  prow,  the  plowshare,  the  thin 
edge  of  a  wedge,  and  a  multitude  of  utensils  designed 
for  cleavage,  is  the  most  favorable  for  pushing 
through  the  mass  of  the  air  with  the  least  fatigue. 
If  in  marshaling  their  flying  battalions  the  goose 
and  the  duck  had  taken  counsel  of  the  engineer's 
science,  they  could  not  have  managed  better.  But 
they  have  no  need  of  others'  advice:  instructed  by 
their  own  instinct,  they  utilized  long  before  we  did 
the  principle  of  the  wedge. 

"Moreover,  to  divide  among  all  the  members  of 
the  flock  the  excess  of  fatigue  incurred  by  the  file- 
leader  in  opening  a  passage  through  the  air  by 
strength  of  wing,  each  in  turn  takes  the  post  of 
honor,  the  forward  end  of  the  single  file  or  the  point 
of  the  angle  formed  by  the  double  file.  Its  term  of 
service  ended,  the  bird  at  the  head  retires  to  the 
rear  to  recuperate,  and  another  leader  takes  its  place. 
By  this  equitable  division  of  labor  the  fatigue  does 
not  prove  excessive  for  any  one  bird,  and  the  flock 
leaves  no  stragglers  behind." 


CHAPTEK  LVIII 

CARRIER-PIGEON  S 

RESUMING  the  subject  of  bird  instinct  as  illus- 
trated by  the  migratory  flock's  unerring  pre- 
cision in  finding  its  way  over  thousands  of  miles  to 
a  desired  nesting-place,  Uncle  Paul  continued  as  fol- 
lows: 

"How  is  it  that  so  many  thousands,  even  millions, 
of  migrating  birds  can  direct  their  course  through 
trackless  space  each  to  the  particular  rock  or  tree 
or  nest  left  behind  six  months  before,  when  the  yearly 
removal  was  decided  upon  to  some  southern  region  a 
thousand  miles  or  more  distant?  How,  for  example, 
does  the  frail  swallow  manage  to  find  again,  at  the 
return  of  spring,  its  tiny  abode  in  the  north  when 
it  retraces  the  long  journey  of  the  previous  autumn? 
In  order  that  we  may  be  sure  it  is  the  same  swallow 
returned  to  the  same  nest  we  tie  a  colored  string, 
as  I  have  said,  around  the  bird's  claw;  and,  lo  and 
behold,  when  April  comes,  with  it  comes  our  swallow 
to  its  dwelling  under  the  eaves.  It  is  indeed  our 
identical  bird  and  no  other;  it  is  the  very  one  that 
fashioned  the  nest  of  clay,  cherished  bit  of  private 
property  now  so  eagerly  taken  possession  of  once 
more.  The  owner's  demonstrations  of  satisfaction 
and  delight  are  convincing  proof,  even  were  the  bit 
of  red  thread  not  there  to  dispel  all  doubt. 


CARRIER-PIGEONS  323 

"If  the  swallow  is  able  to  find  its  nest  again  upon 
returning  in  the  spring  from  the  land  of  the  negroes, 
still  more  will  it  be  able  to  find  it  after  being  re- 
moved merely  from  its  native  canton  to  the  neigh- 
boring one. 

"  A  mother  sitting  on  her  eggs  or  feeding  her 
young  is  taken,  let  us  suppose,  put  into  a  basket,  and 
carried  quickly  to  a  spot  twenty  or  thirty  leagues 
distant,  where  she  is  set  free  again.  The  surround- 
ing country  is  unfamiliar  to  her :  she  has  never  been 
there  before.  Of  the  road  over  which  she  has  just 
come  she  has  not  the  slightest  knowledge,  having 
traveled  it  in  the  darkness  of  a  closed  basket.  No 
matter.  With  only  a  moment's  hesitation  she  gets 
her  bearings  amid  these  strange  scenes  and  takes 
flight  toward  her  nest  as  unerringly  as  if  it  were 
possible  to  see  the  very  roof  under  which  repose  her 
little  ones.  In  a  few  hours  we  shall  find  her  back 
again  on  her  nest. 

"A  like  behavior  under  similar  conditions  might 
be  witnessed  in  the  case  of  divers  other  birds  noted 
for  strength  of  wing  and  power  of  sustained  flight. 
They  would  return  to  their  domicile  in  spite  of  the 
distance  to  be  traversed  and  the  unfamiliarity  of 
the  intervening  country.  Maternal  love  can  accom- 
plish wonders.  In  order  to  save  her  eggs  from  a 
chill  or  her  little  ones  from  starving  in  her  absence, 
the  mother-bird  exercises  a  geographical  skill  as 
marvelous  as  that  displayed  at  the  period  of  migra- 
tion." 

"I  have  heard  it  said,"  remarked  Louis,  "that  the 


324 


FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 


pigeon  is  very  clever  at  finding  its  way  over  long 
distances,  and  that  it  is  used  for  carrying  letters 
from  one  place  to  another." 

"Yes,"  replied  Uncle  Paul,  "this  aptitude  for  re- 
tracing the  homeward  way  over  vast  distances  is 
shown  to  an  extraordinary  degree  by  some  of  our 
domestic  pigeons.  Economizing  all  their  strength 
for  purposes  of  sustained  flight,  they  have  retained 
the  wild  pigeon's  pointed  wings,  sleek  plumage,  and 
symmetrical  form.  We  call  these  birds  carrier- 
pigeons,  a  name  well  earned,  as  you  will  see  from 
what  I  have  now  to  tell  you. 

"A  pigeon  having  a  brood  of  young  is  taken  from 
the  pigeon-house,  put  into  a  closed  basket,  and  trans- 
ported a  distance  of  a 
hundred,  two  hundred 
leagues,  or  even  further 
if  you  choose — from  one 
end  of  France  to  the 
other.  There  it  is  set 
free.  It  rises  in  the  air, 
circles  about  a  few  times 
as  if  to  assure  itself  of  the 
direction  to  be  followed, 
and  then  starts  off  in 
impetuous  flight  toward 
the  quarter  where  pigeon- 
house  and  young  await  its  coming. 

"Does  the  bird  catch  sight  of  the  pigeon-house  as 
it  circles  about  in  the  upper  air?  By  no  means;  the 
distance  is  too  great.  Even  should  it  rise  to  the 


Carrier  Pigeon 


CARRIER-PIGEONS  325 

height  of  the  clouds,  or  to  still  greater  altitudes, 
where  moreover  its  wings  could  not  sustain  it,  it 
would  be  unable  to  see  its  home.  On  the  journey 
to  the  point  where  it  was  released  it  has  had  no  pass- 
ing glimpse  of  any  object,  shut  up  as  it  has  been  in 
the  dark  basket.  The  region  it  now  traverses  it  sees 
for  the  first  time.  Nothing  in  the  surrounding  land- 
scape is  familiar,  and  yet  its  flight  evinces  the  assur- 
ance that  comes  from  having  a  definite  goal  in  view. 
With  a  speed  of  about  twenty  leagues  an  hour  it 
wings  its  way  straight  to  the  journey's  end.  If  the 
distance  is  too  great  to  be  covered  without  pause, 
halts  are  made  here  and  there  for  food  and  rest ;  then 
the  journey  is  resumed,  swift  as  an  arrow's  flight. 
Finally,  at  the  end  of  some  hours  or  days,  according 
to  the  distance  and  the  duration  of  the  halts,  the  bird 
reenters  the  pigeon-house  with  its  beakful  of  food 
for  the  waiting  little  ones. 

"In  serious  situations  the  carrier-pigeon  is  a  val- 
uable messenger.  During  the  winter  of  that  terrible 
year,  1870-71,  when  the  German  hordes  besieged 
Paris,  no  communication  was  possible  by  ordinary 
means  between  the  invested  city  and  the  rest  of 
France,  in  arms  to  repel  the  odious  invader.  With 
Paris  rendered  mute  by  its  isolation,  one  might  have 
said  that  the  heart  of  the  country  had  ceased  to  beat. 
For  communication  between  those  within  and  friends 
without,  recourse  was  had  to  balloons  and  pigeons. 

"Certain  persons  of  dauntless  courage  left  Paris 
by  balloon,  choosing  especially  the  night-time  for 
their  departure  in  order  to  avoid  encounter  by  day. 


326  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

They  carried  with  them  despatches  from  Paris  and 
a  number  of  carrier-pigeons.  Over  the  enemy  camps 
they  went,  to  alight  somewhere,  far  or  near,  at  the 
pleasure  of  the  winds.  Thus  the  provinces  received 
despatches,  newspapers,  and  private  letters  from 
Paris.  The  car  of  the  balloon  was  loaded  with  all 
these. 

"But  how  carry  back  to  Paris  despatches  from  the 
provinces  ?  To  leave  a  city  by  balloon  in  any  chance 
direction  is  not  so  very  difficult;  but  to  return  by 
balloon  to  the  same  city  is  practically  impossible. 
The  balloon  goes  as  the  wind  wills,  not  as  its  pas- 
sengers would  like  to  have  it  go.  To  seek  to  return 
by  the  means  employed  in  departing  would  be  to 
compromise  everything  by  incurring  the  risk  of  land- 
ing in  the  midst  of  the  Prussian  lines. 

"The  only  remaining  expedient  was  to  use  those 
incomparable  aids,  the  pigeons,  which  the  aeronaut 
had  taken  with  him  on  his  departure.  Released,  one 
at  a  time,  with  despatches  enclosed  in  a  quill  and 
fastened  to  the  bird's  tail,  they  flew  back  over  the 
German  army  to  the  pigeon-house;  they  reentered 
Paris  and  brought  news  of  what  was  going  on  in 
the  provinces. 

"Do  not  imagine  that  the  winged  messenger  was 
able  to  transmit  only  a  few  words  or  at  most  a  few 
lines.  It  was  not  with  a  pen  or  on  ordinary  paper 
that  the  despatches  entrusted  to  the  pigeons  were 
written.  By  ingenious  methods  and  with  unheard-of 
delicacy  it  was  found  possible  to  obtain  characters 
so  fine  and  sheets  of  paper  so  thin  that  a  roll  of  these 


CARRIER-PIGEONS  327 

sheets  weighing  scarcely  a  gram  and  enclosed  in  a 
quill  contained  as  much  reading  matter  as  ten  printed 
volumes.  What  a  marvelous  piece  of  work,  that 
package  of  letters  fastened  to  the  pigeon's  tail,  that 
quill  transformed  into  a  library  in  which  thousands 
of  persons — friends,  kinsfolk,  statesmen — communi- 
cated their  projects,  their  fears,  their  hopes!  In 
this  manner  the  mail  service  was  maintained  during 
those  woeful  times. " 


CHAPTER  LIX 

SOME   PREHISTORIC   ANIMALS 

"TH10SSIL  remains  of  all  sorts  of  animals,  from  the 
r  largest  to  the  smallest,  are  found  embedded  in 
stone.  There  are  lizards  which,  if  alive,  would 
hardly  find  room  enough  to  turn  around  in  many  of 
our  public  squares,  so  monstrous  is  their  size;  tor- 
toises with  shell  as  large  as  a  small  boat;  fishes  of 
strange  formation;  birds  of  a  singular  character 
such  as  we  no  longer  behold;  and  enormous  quad- 
rupeds that  would  dwarf  to  insignificance  our  sturdy 
ox.  All  flying  creatures  of  the  air,  all  walking  and 
creeping  animals  of  the  earth,  every  form  of  life 
swimming  in  the  water,  are  represented  in  these  fos- 
sil remains  found  in  the  heart  of  our  rocks,  but  of  a 
shape  and  often  of  a  size  very  different  from  those  of 
our  living  animals. 

11  These  ancient  creatures  have  never  been  seen 
alive  by  man,  so  far  back  in  the  past  is  their  period. 
After  inhabiting  the  earth  for  a  very  long  time,  they 
disappeared  forever,  to  give  place  to  other  species. 
What  remains  of  them  consists  chiefly  of  bones, 
which  from  their  hardness  and  their  mineral  char- 
acter offer  the  most  resistance  to  the  various  de- 
structive agencies.  With  the  sole  aid  of  these  bones 
science  succeeds  in  reconstructing  the  exact  form  of 

328 


SOME  PREHISTORIC  ANIMALS 


329 


the  animal.  It  also  tells  us  what  the  animal  fed  on 
and  what  were  its  habits.  By  a  miracle  of  sagacity 
it  resuscitates,  so  to  speak,  the  ancient,  dislocated 
carcass,  and  makes  it  live  again  to  the  mind's  eye. 

"Fossil  bones  are  commonly  found  embedded  in 
stone  quarried  at  considerable  depths;  it  needs  the 
work  of  pick  and  chisel  and  hammer  to  free  them 
from  the  rock.  How  did  they  come  to  be  there! 
In  the  same  way  as  shells.  If  the  creature  lived  in 
the  waters  of  a  lake  or  of  the  sea,  the  mud  at  the  bot- 
tom covered  the  body  after  death.  If  it  lived  on 
land,  the  floods  swept  away  its 
carcass  and  bore  it  to  the  river, 
which  in  turn  carried  it  to  lake  or 
ocean.  Later  the  lake  dried  up  or 
the  ocean  receded,  and  the  hard- 
ened clay  left  behind  became  the 
stone  whence  to-day  are  obtained 
the  relics  of  prehistoric  forms  of 
animal  life. 

"What,  then,  were  these  pre- 
historic forms  of  animal  life  that 
preceded  man?  Regarding  our- 
selves as  related  to  the  animals 
provided  with  bones,  a  sort  of  inner 
framework  sustaining  the  cor- 
poreal edifice,  we  may  say  in  a 
general  way  that  there  has  been  a 
gradual  succession  from  lower  to 
higher  in  structure.  First  appeared  the  fishes,  then 
came  the  reptiles,  next  the  birds,  after  them  the 


330  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

quadrupeds,  suckling  their  young,  and  last  of  all 
man,  placed  above  all  the  rest  by  his  incomparable 
endowments. 

"Let  us  glance  rapidly  at  some  examples  of  the 
ancient  denizens  of  land  and  sea.  Look  at  this  pic- 
ture. The  back  of  the  creature  here  represented  re- 
sembles a  little,  in  its  form  and  in  its  regular  rows 
of  scales,  the  tail  of  a  fish;  but  the  front — to  what 
can  that  be  likened?  What  is  the  meaning  of  those 
large  bony  plaques  arranged  side  by  side  like  the 
squares  in  a  tessellated  pavement?  The  animal  is 
armed  with  coat  of  mail,  perhaps  to  protect  itself 
from  the  bite  of  an  enemy. 

"What  is  the  purpose  of  those  wing-like  appen- 
dages that  strike  the  flanks?  Of  what  use  are  those 
two  short  horns  at  the  base  of  the  forehead?  What 
sort  of  a  creature  can  it  be  that  thus  singularly  com- 
bines in  its  structure  the  tail  of  a  fish,  the  shell  of  a 
tortoise,  the  featherless  wings  of  a  bird,  and  the 
nascent  horns  of  a  ram!  You  will  never  guess  the 
answer,  so  different  is  the  creature  from  any  that 
are  known  to  you.  It  is  a  fish,  but  such  a  fish  as 
no  frying-pan  of  ours  has  ever  had  acquaintance 
with,  nor  does  the  ocean  now  hold  any  more 
like  it. 

"It  goes  back  to  the  earliest  ages  of  the  world,  and 
is  called  the  pterichthys.  Do  not  exclaim  at  this 
name,  as  strange  to  our  ears  as  the  creature  itself  to 
our  eyes.  Translated  into  our  tongue,  it  means  a 
winged  fish.  But  did  this  fish  of  former  ages  really 
fly?  Assuredly  not.  It  was  too  heavy,  too  massive, 


SOME  PREHISTORIC  ANIMALS 


331 


to  admit  of  that.    Its  wings  were  simply  admirable 
fins  for  swimming. 

"In  the  seas  of  our  day  there  live  certain  fishes 
fitted  for  flying.  Their  lateral  fins,  which  are  very 
long,  open  like  large  fans  and  enable  them  to  sustain 


Flying  Fish 

themselves  for  some  time  in  the  air.  Pressed  too 
hard  by  a  pursuing  foe,  they  escape  by  leaping  out 
of  the  water  and  flying  over  the  waves,  clearing  a 
certain  distance  before  plunging  again  into  the 
water,  as  they  must  when  their  fins  begin  to  get  dry 
and  to  lose  their  suppleness.  They  are  called  flying 


Pterodactyl 

fishes.  Compare  these  two  pictures  and  you  will 
see  how  greatly  the  present  flying  fish  differs  from 
the  ancient  winged  fish. 

' 'And  this  other  creature — what  wild  dream  could 
have  conceived  such  a  monstrosity?    It  has  the  head 


332  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

and  neck  of  a  plucked  bird;  and  it  also  has  a  bird's 
beak,  but  an  enormous  one  armed  with  pointed  teeth 
in  each  mandible.  Its  wings  are  those  of  a  bat,  one 
talon  of  each  claw  being  disproportionately  elon- 
gated and  serving  as  support  to  a  wide  membrane, 
much  as  an  umbrella-rib  holds  the  stretched  fabric 
of  the  cover.  Its  other  talons  are  free  and  are  fur- 
nished with  hooked  nails. 

The  hind  legs  and  feet  are  those  of  the  lizard. 
The  body  is  covered  with  fine  scales,  is  marbled  with 
touches  of  a  darker  color,  and  ends  in  an  abbreviated 
tail.  Take  away  from  this  strange  animal  its  bat's 
wings,  its  long  neck  and  its  bird's  head,  and  you 
will  have  something  closely  resembling  the  lizard, 
the  creature  that  basks  in  the  sun  on  old  walls,  or 
that  other  one,  larger  and  all  green,  which  gives  us 
a  start  when  it  scuttles  away  among  the  dead  leaves 
or  in  the  dense  growth  of  the  hedge." 

"And  was  it  a  lizard,  then,  or  a  bird?"  asked 
Emile. 

"It  was  a  reptile,  certainly,"  was  the  reply,  "and 
it  might  be  called  a  sort  of  lizard.  There  were  sev- 
eral species,  varying  from  the  size  of  a  lark  to  that 
of  a  crow.  Like  the  bat,  the  animal  left  its  retreat 
in  the  hollow  of  rocks  and  came  out  at  night  to 
flutter  awkwardly  about  in  the  air  by  the  aid  of  its 
wings  of  stretched  skin.  With  its  toothed  beak  it 
snapped  up  in  their  flight  immense  dragon-flies,  the 
chief  insects  of  that  time.  Its  hunger  appeased,  it 
took  its  repose  on  the  ground,  wings  folded  against 
its  sides,  body  supported  by  the  hind  legs;  or  else 


SOME  PREHISTORIC  ANIMALS  333 

it  hung  down  from  the  rocks,  suspended  by  its  claws. 
Its  name  is  pterodactyl,  which  means  wing-fingered. 

"Let  us  consider  another  of  these  prehistoric  crea- 
tures. This  time  it  is  a  bird,  and  what  a  marvelous 
bird,  too,  my  friends!  Its  beak,  no  less  monstrous 
than  that  of  the  pterodactyl,  had  likewise  the  two 
mandibles  armed 
with  a  ferocious- 
looking  set  of 
teeth.  Pointed 

teeth  in  the  jaws 
of  a  reptile,  such 
as  a  lizard,  croco- 
dile, or  serpent, 
are  nothing  ex- 
traordinary ;  but 
in  a  bird's  mouth, 
that  is  unheard-of. 
To-day  one  would 
search  in  vain  all 

over  the  earth  for  Fossil  Remains  of 

anything  like  it.  There  are  beaks  of  all  shapes 
and  sizes,  there  are  short  ones  and  long  ones,  straight 
ones  and  crooked  ones,  strong  ones  and  weak  ones; 
but  all  are  toothless,  as  are  the  hen's  and  the  spar- 
row's. What  a  singular  custom  in  the  primitive 
bird,  to  adopt  for  beak  the  toothed  jaws  of  the 
reptile ! 

"And  that  is  not  all.  This  bird  adopted  also  the 
reptile's  tail,  but  covered  it  with  feathers.  Birds 
of  the  present  day  have  a  short,  wide  rump,  from 


334  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

which  grow  a  dozen  coarse  feathers.  The  first  bird 
in  the  order  of  time  had  its  tail  composed  of  a  long 
succession  of  little  bones,  each  supporting  two 
feathers.  Here  is  a  picture  of  that  tail  just  as  it 
was  found  in  the  rock  where  the  strange  creature 
left  its  remains.  The  bird  to  which  the  tail  belonged 
is  called  by  the  learned  an  archaeopteryx,  or  ancient 
winged  animal. 
"One  more  of  these  monsters,  and  that  will  suffice. 


Mammoth 

The  animal  that  you  see  here  is  the  mammoth,  a 
sort  of  enormous  shaggy  elephant,  so  tall  that  its 
back  would  have  touched  the  ceiling  in  most  of  our 
great  halls.  Its  height  was  as  much  as  six  meters. 
By  its  side  the  ordinary  elephant,  the  largest  of 
extant  terrestrial  animals,  would  look  no  larger  than 
a  sheep  beside  an  ox. 

"Its  tusks,  which  had  a  pronounced  backward 
curve,  measured  four  meters  in  length  and  weighed 
as  much  as  four  hundred  and  eighty  pounds  each. 


SOME  PREHISTORIC  ANIMALS  335 

What  must  have  been  the  strength  of  a  colossus 
carrying  between  its  lips  a  weight  of  nine  hundred 
pounds  as  easily  as  a  cat  carries  the  hairs  of  its 
mustaches ! 

1  'Man  was  already  in  existence  at  the  time  of  the 
mammoth.  Armed  with  sharp  flint-stones  and  bone- 
pointed  arrows,  he  made  bold  to  attack  the  enormous 
animal  whose  weight  made  the  earth  tremble.  He 
hunted  it  in  the  chase  and  feasted  on  its  flesh.  What 
a  piece  of  game  when  the  giant  fell  into  the  deep 
ditch  masked  by  a  light  covering  of  boughs  and 
foliage!  The  victim  was  then  overwhelmed  with 
masses  of  rock,  after  which  there  was  an  intermin- 
able banquet  for  the  whole  tribe. 

"Let  us  go  no  further,  but  merely  say  in  conclu- 
sion that  the  animals  of  to-day  are  not  the  same  as 
those  of  former  ages.  Long  before  the  present 
species  on  land  and  in  the  sea,  there  gradually  made 
their  appearance  other  very  different  forms  of  an- 
imal life,  which  have  now  become  extinct.  Nowhere 
on  the  earth  are  there  now  living  any  creatures  like 
those  that  have  left  their  fossil  remains  for  our  in- 
spection. ' ' 


CHAPTER  LX 

THE   ORIGIN    OP   COAL 

is  a  fuel  of  inestimable  value.  By  the 
heat  which  it  develops  in  burning  it  gives 
movement  to  divers  machines.  It  makes  the  locomo- 
tive move  over  the  iron  rails  and  the  steamship  trav- 
erse the  ocean.  With  its  aid  metals  are  worked, 
fabrics  woven,  pottery  is  baked,  glassware  manufac- 
tured, newspapers  and  books  are  printed,  tools  are 
shaped,  and  all  sorts  of  instruments  necessary  to  our 
daily  activities  are  produced.  The  arts  and  crafts 
have  no  more  powerful  auxiliary.  If  we  had  to  sub- 
stitute the  heat  of  wood  for  that  of  coal,  our  forests 
would  prove  insufficient. 

"What,  then,  is  the  origin  of  this  combustible, 
which  feeds  an  immense  industry  and  is  the  source 
of  incalculable  riches?  Ordinarily  a  piece  of  coal 
has  no  great  interest  for  the  eye.  It  is  black,  lus- 
trous, formless,  friable,  without  any  definite  char- 
acter to  afford  us  instruction.  One  can  learn  more 
from  the  fragments  of  refuse  rejected  by  the  miner 
as  too  poor  in  carbon,  fragments  in  which  the  pre- 
dominating element  is  a  kind  of  dark  stone  that 
splits  in  sheets.  In  these  a  surprise  is  lurking  that 
will  tell  us  the  secret  of  coal. 

"These  laminate  blocks,  stone  rather  than  coal, 

336 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  COAL 


337 


show  us,  on  the  slabs  that  have  just  been  separated 
by  the  blow  of  the  hammer,  various  wonderful  de- 
signs in  which  we  recognize  without  hesitation  the 
imprint  or  mold  of  some  form  of  vegetation.  There 
is  no  mistake  about  it;  a  plant  has  left  its  remains 
there ;  we  behold  in  very  truth  the  leaf  with  its  sub- 


Fern  Imprints  from  the  Coal  Epoch 

divisions  and  its  veins.  It  is  all  there,  even  to  the 
minutest  detail.  It  is  really  the  leaf  minus  the 
green  color,  for  which  is  substituted  the  black  of  the 
coal.  We  should  not  obtain  a  more  exact  representa- 
tion if  we  ourselves  took  the  imprint  of  some  suffi- 
ciently firm  leaf  on  a  soft  plaque  of  clay. 

"  Pending  the  time  when  some  lucky  chance  shall 
bring  you  into  the  neighborhood  of  a  coal  mine 
where  you  can  obtain  a  laminate  block  that  you  can 


338  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

split  into  sheets  and  thus  discover  for  yourselves 
the  vegetable  imprints  there  concealed,  here  is  a  pic- 
ture that  will  show  you  what  these  curious  markings 
look  like. 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?  Have  we  not  here 
what  seems  to  be  actual  leaves,  and  very  elegant 
ones  too?  They  are  spread  out  with  a  care  that 
would  appear  to  indicate  the  work  of  a  painstaking 
human  hand.  Yes,  these  are  real  leaves,  but  turned 
to  carbon  and  firmly  incrusted  in  their  bed  of  black 
rock. 

"  Similar  imprints  are  found  in  great  abundance 
in  all  coal  mines.  Certain  coal-deposits,  several  me- 
ters thick,  are  composed  entirely  of  them,  the  small- 
est chip  that  one  splits  off  bearing  on  each  face  the 
markings  of  foliage.  The  whole  is  nothing  but  an 
accumulation  of  leaves  and  broken  tree-trunks.  An 
entire  forest,  heaped  up  in  one  pile,  would  not  pre- 
sent an  equal  mass.  Thus  it  is  demonstrated  that 
in  coal  are  preserved  the  remains  of  ancient  vege- 
tation. 

"  During  great  floods  the  rivers  of  former  ages 
swept  away  in  enormous  masses  the  trees  they  had 
uprooted  along  the  banks,  together  with  the  foliage 
washed  into  the  current  by  the  heavy  rains ;  then  all 
this  refuse  was  deposited  in  the  mud  at  the  river's 
mouth,  or  in  some  lake  or  bay.  Thus  were  amassed 
here  and  there,  under  the  water,  during  a  long  series 
of  centuries,  the  remains  of  primitive  forests. 

"Fine  clay  became  packed  about  these  masses, 
molding  itself  with  delicate  accuracy  around  even  the 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  COAL  339 

smallest  leaf;  the  weight  of  the  superimposed  mud 
crushed  the  softened  tree-trunks;  a  gradual  decay 
converted  the  whole  into  charcoal;  and  finally  the 
ligneous  mass  became  a  layer  of  coal.  Later  the 
waters  changed  their  bed,  driven  elsewhere  by  up- 
heavals in  the  surface  of  the  earth,  and  the  pre- 
viously inundated  bottom-lands  became  solid  ground 
in  which  to-day  we  find  coal  under  massive  strata 
of  rock. 

"Is  it  possible  to  distinguish  the  forms  of  plant- 
life  whence  has  come  our  coal?  Yes,  it  is  possible, 
so  well  preserved  are  the  details  of  that  life  in  the 
products  of  our  mines.  Now  an  examination  of  the 
imprints  left  to  us  in  the  laminaB  or  leaves  of  our 
stone  book  shows  us  that  the  plant-life  of  those  re- 
mote ages  in  which  the  coal  was  accumulated  bore 
not  the  least  resemblance  to  that  of  our  present  for- 
ests. And  this  difference  was  to  be  expected.  The 
animal  life  has  changed ;  why,  then,  should  the  plant- 
life  have  remained  unaltered!" 

"Didn't  they  have  trees  then  like  ours?"  asked 
Jules. 

"No,"  replied  his  uncle;  "we  do  not  find  in  our 
coal  mines  any  signs  of  the  existence  of  trees  re- 
sembling those  of  our  day.  Nowhere  in  the  world, 
in  fact,  are  there  now  to  be  seen  any  such  forms  of 
plant-life  as  flourished  so  abundantly  in  those  remote 
ages ;  or  if  any  still  exist  that  are  at  all  analogous, 
they  must  be  sought  in  the  islands  of  the  tropical 
seas.  No  vegetable  growth  of  that  coal  epoch, 
whether  tree  or  bush  or  simple  cluster  of  leaves, 


340  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

bore  flowers.  The  splendors  of  the  corolla  were  not 
to  appear  until  a  later  period. 

"For  the  most  part  there  were  only  tall  stems  or 
stalks,  without  branches,  of  equal  size  from  top  to 
bottom,  and  furrowed  with  channels  or  dotted  with 
large  points  arranged  in  spiral  lines.  At  the  top 
a  tuft  of  enormous  leaves  balanced  itself,  the  under 
surface  of  each  leaf  bearing  elongated  or  rounded 
swellings  containing  a  fine  brown  dust,  each  grain 
of  which  was  a  seed  for  the  propagation  of  the  plant. 

4 'Plants  that  thus  bear  their  seeds,  or  spores,  in 
powdery  masses  on  the  under  side  of  the  leaves  are 
called  ferns.  A  number  of  species  flourish  in  our 
part  of  the  world.  They  are  unpretentious  plants, 
fond  of  shade  and  coolness.  Old  damp  walls,  rocks 
that  drip  water  drop  by  drop,  the  darkest  corners  of 
our  woods — these  are  the  customary  haunts  of  the 
fern. 

"A  short  underground  stock  and  a  sparse  cluster 
of  leaves,  very  elegantly  shaped,  it  is  true,  consti- 
tute our  native  ferns.  Those  of  the  coal  epoch  were 
of  a  different  pattern.  Some  of  them  displayed  at 
the  top  of  a  stem  as  tall  as  our  poplars  a  cluster  of 
leaves  five  or  six  meters  in  length.  They  are  called 
tree-ferns,  and  they  contributed  the  greater  part  of 
the  coal-forming  material. 

"The  accompanying  illustration  will  give  you  an 
idea  of  what  the  vegetation  of  that  period  must  have 
looked  like.  What  strange  trees!  How  different 
from  our  oaks  and  maples  and  hemlocks!  The  soil 
is  a  liquid  mud  in  which  lie  and  rot  the  tree-trunks 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  COAL 


341 


prostrated  by  the  weight  of  years ;  the  air  is  sultry, 
moist,  heavy,  strongly  impregnated  with  a  moldy 
smell;  and  the  density  of  the  foliage  barely  admits 
a  few  sunbeams  to  flicker  over  ithe  surface  of  the 
stagnant  pools. 
"Everywhere  profound  silence.  No  song  of  bird 


Imaginary  View  of  a  Forest  of  the  Coal  Epoch 

bursts  forth  from  the  foliage  of  those  tall  fern-trees, 
for  the  bird  is  not  yet  in  existence.  No  foot  of  quad- 
ruped treads  the  ground,  for  the  quadruped  with  its 
coat  of  fur  will  not  come  until  much  later.  Some 
lizards  lurking  in  the  rock-fissures,  some  large  drag- 
on-flies at  the  water's  edge,  some  odious  scorpions 
under  the  heaps  of  dead  leaves — that  is  all  the  ani- 
mal-life to  be  found  in  the  forests  that  gave  us  our 
coal." 


CHAPTER  LXI 

THE  FARMER'S  HELPERS 

BY  'helpers'  I  here  mean  those  animals  and  birds 
that  come  to  our  aid,  though  not  subject  to 
our  care  and  protection,  and  make  war  on  the  in- 
sects and  divers  other  devourers  that  would  soon  get 
complete  control  of  our  crops  if  we  were  left  to  our 
own  resources  for  preventing  their  excessive  multi- 
plication. What  could  man  do  against  those  vora- 
cious hordes  that  annually  propagate  their  kind  at 
a  rate  defying  calculation!  Would  he  have  the  pa- 
tience, the  skill,  the  keenness  of  eyesight  necessary 
for  effective  warfare  upon  the  smallest  of  these  ma- 
rauders when  the  June-bug,  despite  its  size,  mocks 
at  our  utmost  efforts  to  exterminate  it?  Would  he 
undertake  to  examine  all  his  fields,  a  clod  at  a  timo, 
to  inspect  his  grain,  ear  by  ear,  to  scrutinize  his  fruit 
trees,  one  leaf  after  another?  For  so  prodigious  a 
task  the  combined  efforts  of  the  whole  human  race 
would  not  suffice.  The  devouring  hosts  would  eat 
us  up,  my  friends,  if  we  had  no  helpers  to  come  to 
our  rescue,  helpers  endowed  with  a  patience  that 
nothing  can  weary,  an  adroitness  that  baffles  all 
wiles,  a  vigilance  from  which  there  is  no  escape.  To 
lie  in  wait  for  the  enemy,  to  seek  him  in  his  remotest 
retreats,  to  pursue  him  without  pause  or  rest,  and 

342 


THE  FARMER'S  HELPERS 


343 


finally  to  exterminate  him,  that  is  their  sole  concern, 
their  incessant  preoccupation.  They  are  implacable, 
pitiless;  hunger  urges  them  on,  both  for  their  own 
sake  and  in  behalf  of  their  families.  They  live  at 
the  expense  of  those 
that  live  at  our  ex- 
pense; they  are  the 
enemies  of  our  ene- 
mies. 

"As  participants  in  Adder-  or  viPer 

this  great  work  must  be  named  the  bat  and  the 
hedge-hog,  the  owl,  the  martin,  the  swallow,  and  all 
the  smaller  birds,  the  lizard,  the  adder,  the  frog,  and 
the  toad.  Praise  be  to  God  who  has  given  us  as 
protectors  from  that  glutton,  the  insect,  such  birds 
as  the  swallow  and  the  warbler,  the  robin  and  the 
nightingale,  the  martin  and  the  starling.  And  yet 
these  invaluable  creatures,  guardians  of  earth's 
bounty,  a  delight  to  the  eye,  a  solace  to  the  ear, 
have  their  homes  pillaged  by  the  barbarous  and 

stupid  robber  of  birds ' 
nests.  Praise  be  to 
God  who  for  the  pro- 
tection of  our  daily 
bread  has  given  us 
the  owl  and  the  toad, 

Green  Lizard  of  Europe  the        hedg6-hog        and 

the  bat,  the  adder,  the  lizard  and  the  mole.  Never- 
theless these  useful  creatures  that  come  so  valiantly 
to  our  aid  are  cursed  and  calumniated,  and  we  stu- 
pidly vent  upon  them  our  loathing  and  hate. 


344  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

"By  what  perversity  are  we,  in  general,  impelled 
to  destroy  animals  whose  cooperation  is  so  much  to 
our  advantage?  Nearly  all  our  helpers  are  perse- 
cuted. Their  good  will  must  be  indomitable  to  make 
them  bear  our  ill  treatment  and  not  forsake  our 
dwellings  and  fields,  never  to  return.  The  bat  rids 
us  of  a  host  of  enemies,  and  is  nevertheless  under 
the  ban;  the  mole  clears  the  soil  of  vermin,  and  is 
likewise  proscribed;  the  hedge-hog  wages  war  on 
vipers  and  cut-worms,  and  it  too  is  an  outlaw;  the 
owl  and  various  other  night  birds  are  accomplished 
rat-hunters,  and  they  also  are  in  disfavor ;  the  adder, 
toad,  and  lizard  feed  on  the  ravagers  of  our  crops, 
and  all  the  while  we  hold  them  in  abhorrence.  They 
are  ugly,  we  say,  and  without  further  reason  we  kill 
them.  But,  blind  slayers,  the  day  will  come  when 
you  will  perceive  that  you  have  been  sacrificing  your 
own  defenders  to  an  irrational  repugnance.  You 
complain  of  rats,  but  you  nail  the  owl  to  your  door 
and  let  its  body  dry  in  the  sun  as  a  hideous  trophy ; 
you  cry  out  against  cut-worms,  but  you  crush  the 
mole  every  time  your  spade  turns  one  up ;  you  dis- 
embowel the  hedge-hog  and  set  your  dogs  on  him 
just  for  fun;  you  bewail  the  ravages  of  moth  and 
worm  in  your  granaries,  but  if  the  bat  falls  into 
your  clutches  it  is  seldom  that  you  show  him  any 
mercy.  Your  complaints  go  up  to  heaven,  but  all 
these  willing  helpers  of  yours  you  treat  as  creatures 
accursed.  Blind  fools  that  you  are,  filled  with  an 
insane  desire  to  kill ! 

"Insect-eating  birds  are  of  immense  importance 


THE  FARMER'S  HELPERS  345 

to  agriculture.  They  divide  among  themselves  the 
work  to  be  done  in  field  and  hedge,  meadow  and  gar- 
den, forest  and  orchard,  and  wage  unceasing  war- 
fare on  every  species  of  vermin,  a  terrible  tribe  that 
would  destroy  our  crops  were  not  more  vigilant 
guardians  than  we  continually  on  the  watch — guard- 
ians of  far  greater  adroitness,  of  sharper  eyesight, 
of  more  lasting  patience  in  their  endless  quest,  and 
having  nothing  else  to  do.  I  am  not  exaggerating, 
my  little  friends ;  without  insect-eating  birds  famine 
would  decimate  us.  Who  then,  unless  he  be  an  idiot 
with  a  mania  for  destruction,  would  dare  touch  the 
nests  of  birds  that  enliven  the  country  with  their 
plumage  and  deliver  us  from  the  devouring  scourge 
of  insects  ?  But  there  are,  nevertheless,  bloodthirsty 
gamins  who,  if  they  can  manage  to  elude  the  school- 
master and  play  truant,  find  it  a  joyous  pastime  to 
climb  trees  and  explore  hedges  in  order  to  rob  birds' 
nests  and  slaughter  the  young.  These  good-for- 
nothings  are  under  the  surveillance  of  the  rural 
guard  and  liable  to  the  utmost  rigors  of  the  law,  to 
the  end  that  our  crops  may  still  be  protected  by  the 
birds  and  that  our  fields  and  orchards  may  continue 
to  yield  sheaves  of  grain  and  baskets  of  fruit. 

"Let  us  add  a  few  words  on  the  mode  of  life  of 
these  indispensable  collaborators.  The  bat  feeds 
exclusively  on  insects,  anything  in  that  class  serving 
its  purpose, — beetles  with  hard  wing-sheaths,  spin- 
dle-shanked mosquitoes,  graceful  butterflies,  plump- 
bellied  moths  of  all  kinds,  such  as  make  havoc  of  our 
Cereals,  vineyards,  fruit  trees  and  woolen  stuffs,  and 


346  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

those  that  come  in  the  evening,  attracted  by  the 
lamplight,  and  singe  their  wings   over  the  flame. 

Who  shall  say  how 
many  insects  are 
snapped  up  by 
the  bats  in  thoir 
nightly  tour  of  our 
premises?  The 
^2/  game  is  so  small, 

the  hunter's  appe- 
tite so  insatiable ! 

"Note  what  takes  place  on  a  calm  summer  evening. 
Lured  abroad  by  the  mild  temperature  of  the  twi- 
light hours,  a  swarm  of  insects  leave  their  retreats 
and  come  out  to  play  in  the  open  air,  to  hunt  for 
food,  and  to  mate,  one  with  another.  It  is  then  that 
great  night-moths  fly  abruptly  from  flower  to  flower 
and  plunge  their  long  proboscis  to  the  bottom  of 
the  corolla,  where  they  suck  up  the  honey ;  it  is  then 
that  the  mosquito,  eager  for  human  blood,  sings  its 
war-song  in  our  ears  and  chooses  our  tenderest  spot 
for  the  insertion  of  its  envenomed  lancet;  and  it  is 
then  that  the  June-bug  quits  the  sheltering  leaf, 
spreads  its  resounding  wings,  and  goes  booming 
through  the  air  in  quest  of  its  kin.  The  gnats  dance 
in  joyous  swarms  which  the  least  puff  of  wind  dis- 
perses like  a  column  of  smoke ;  the  moths,  their  wings 
powdered  with  silver  dust  and  their  antennae  dis- 
played plume-fashion,  indulge  in  frolicsome  gambols 
or  go  in  search  of  favorable  places  for  laying  their 
eggs;  the  little  wood-gnawing  beetles  explore  the 


THE  FARMER'S  HELPERS  347 

wrinkled  bark  of  old  tree-trunks;  the  wheat-moths 
rise  in  clouds  from  the  ravaged  grain  and  take  flight 
for  fresh  fields ;  and  other  night-flying  insects  flutter 
about,  alighting  on  grape-vines  and  fruit-trees,  all 
busily  searching  for  food  and  shelter  for  their  ca- 
lamitous offspring. 

''But  suddenly  this  scene  of  jollity  is  intruded 
upon  by  a  most  unwelcome  kill-joy.  The  bat,  with 
zig-zag  course,  flits  hither  and  thither,  up  and  down, 
back  and  forth,  untiring  of  wing,  appearing  and  dis- 
appearing, darting  its  head  out  this  way  and  that, 
and  each  time  catching  an  insect  in  flight,  which  it 
immediately  crushes  and  gobbles  up,  sending  it  to 
its  doom  down  a  throat  that  opens  wide  from  ear  to 
ear.  It  is  famous  hunting:  gnats,  beetles,  moths, 
all  are  there  in  plenty,  and  every  once  in  a  while 
a  little  cry  of  joy  announces  the  capture  of  an  espe- 
cially plump  victim.  As  long  as  the  fading  twi- 
light admits  of  it,  the  ardent  hunter  continues  in 
this  way  his  work  of  extermination.  Stuffed  to  re- 
pletion at  last,  the  bat  regains  its  dark  and  quiet 
retreat ;  but  on  the  morrow,  and  every  day  thereafter 
throughout  the  summer,  the  hunt  will  be  resumed, 
always  with  the  same  ardor,  always  at  the  cost  of 
insects  only.  My  children,  respect  the  bat,  our 
helper  in  destroying  the  ravagers  of  our  fields." 


CHAPTER  LXII 

THE  FARMER'S  HELPERS 

(Continued) 

7T1HE  hedge-hog's  diet  consists  especially  of  in- 
A  sects.  The  lowest  order  of  vermin  is  disdained 
by  him  as  too  small,  but  a  June-bug  larva  or  a  fat- 
bellied  cricket  is  a  capital  prize,  and  when  these  are 
not  too  deeply  buried  he  burrows  with  claws  and 
snout  to  unearth  them.  All  night  long  he  goes 
prowling  around,  routing  out  and  crunching  a  goodly 
number  of  our  enemies,  without  doing  any  appre- 
ciable harm  himself. 

"Listen  now  to  what  I  am  going  to  relate  to  you 
from  the  book  of  a  learned  observer.  'I  had  in  a 
box, '  he  says, '  a  female  hedge-hog  with  her  sucklings ; 
and  I  added  to  the  occupants  of  the  box  a  vigorous 
viper,  which  coiled  itself  up  in  one  corner.  The 
hedge-hog  slowly  approached  and  smelt  of  the  rep- 
tile, whereupon  the  latter  raised  its  head  and  put 
itself  on  guard,  showing  the  while  its  venomous 
fangs.  For  a  moment  the  aggressor  recoiled,  but 
only  to  resume  tjie  offensive  immediately  after  and 
with  no  sign  of  fear.  The  viper  then  bit  the  animal 
on  the  end  of  its  snout.  The  hedge-hog  licked  its 
bleeding  wound,  and  in  doing  so  received  a  second 
bite  on  the  tongue  without  suffering  itself  to  be  at 

348 


THE  FARMER'S  HELPERS  349 

all  intimidated.  Finally  it  seized  the  serpent  by  the 
middle  of  its  body,  and  the  two  adversaries  rolled 
together  on  the  floor  in  a  furious  struggle,  the  quad- 
ruped grunting  and  snorting,  the  reptile  hissing  and 
making  repeated  use  of  its  fangs.  Suddenly  the 
hedge-hog  seized  its  antagonist's  head  and  crunched 
it  between  its  teeth,  after  which,  without  the  least 
sign  of  perturbation,  it  proceeded  to  devour  the 
forward  half  of  the  body.  That  done,  it  returned 
to  the  opposite  corner  of  the  box  and,  lying  on  its 
side,  calmly  began  to  suckle  its  young.  On  the  mor- 
row it  ate  the  rest  of  the  viper.  The  same  experi- 
ment was  several  times  repeated,  with  an  interval 
of  some  days  between  each  repetition  and  the  next, 
but  the  issue  was  always  the  same :  in  spite  of  wounds 
that  set  its  snout  to  bleeding,  the  hedge-hog  inva- 
riably finished  by  devouring  the  reptile,  and  neither 
the  mother  nor  her  young  showed  any  ill  effects 
from  the  experience. ' 

"It  is  to  be  assumed  that  the  hedge-hog  has  not 
received  -the  gift  of  withstanding  the  venom  of  rep- 
tiles only  to  leave  that  gift  unemployed.  The  ani- 
mal is  evidently  intended  to  find  its  chief  pleasure 
in  haunting  the  places  frequented  by  the  viper;  in 
its  nightly  rounds  among  the  underbrush  it  must 
often  catch  the  lurking  serpent  and  make  short  work 
of  the  venomous  creature.  What  valuable  service 
it  must  render  in  regions  infested  by  this  dangerous 
reptile !  And  yet  man  is  the  hedge-hog's  inveterate 
foe,  showering  it  with  maledictions  and  treating  it 
as  an  unclean  beast  good  for  nothing  except  perhaps 


350  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

to  arouse  the  fury  of  dogs,  which  have  to  beware 
of  its  bristling  back.  Do  not,  my  children,  imitate 
this  evil  example,  but  respect  the  hedge-hog  for 
ridding  you  of  the  cut-worm  and  the  viper. 

''Now  as  to  the  mole,  what  does  it  eat?  The  best 
way  to  decide  the  question  of  an  animal's  diet  is  to 
examine  the  contents  of  its  stomach.  Let  us,  then, 
open  the  mole's  stomach  and  see  for  ourselves. 
Sometimes  it  is  found  to  contain  red  fragments  of 
the  common  earth-worm;  sometimes  a  hash  of  bee- 
tles, recognizable  from  the  tough  remains  that  have 
resisted  digestion,  such  as  bits  of  claws  and  wing- 
sheaths;  sometimes,  again,  and  oftener  than  not,  a 
marmalade  of  larvae,  especially  those  of  the  June- 
bug,  with  their  distinctive  signs  like  the  mandibles 
and  the  hard  casing  of  the  head.  One  finds,  in  short, 
a  little  of  every  sort  of  game  haunting  the  soil, — 
polypods  and  millepeds,  insects  and  caterpillars, 
moths  in  the  chrysalis,  underground  worms  and 
nymphs,  and  so  on;  but  the  minutest  scrutiny  fails 
to  discover  a  single  particle  of  vegetable  matter. 

"The  mole,  then,  is  exclusively  carnivorous,  and 
furthermore  it  has  a  monstrous  appetite,  a  perfectly 
insatiable  stomach  that  in  twelve  hours  demands  a 
quantity  of  food  equal  to  the  animal's  weight.  The 
mole's  existence  is  one  gluttonous  frenzy,  ever  re- 
newing itself,  never  appeased;  a  few  hours'  absti- 
nence suffices  to  kill  the  creature.  To  still  the  an- 
guish of  that  stomach,  which  is  no  sooner  stuffed 
with  food  than  it  is  emptied  again,  what  can  the  ani- 
mal count  upon?  On  the  grubs  living  in  the  ground, 


THE  FARMER'S  HELPERS  351 

and  especially  on  those  of  the  June-bug,  tender  and 
fat.  It  is  a  small  creature  for  supplying  the  wants 
of  such  an  appetite,  but  its  numbers  make  up  for  its 
littleness.  What  a  massacre  of  worms,  then,  must 
not  the  mole  be  credited  with  in  the  season  when 
worms  abound!  Scarcely  is  one  meal  finished  be- 
fore another  begins,  and  at  each  repast  the  worms 
must  be  gobbled  up  by  the  dozen.  To  clear  a  field 
of  these  formidable  ravagers  the  farmer  has  no 
helper  equal  to  the  mole.  The  only  regret  is  that  to 
reach  the  vermin  on  which  the  animal  lives,  it  has 
to  burrow  among  the  roots  where  they  have  their 
haunts.  Many  roots  that  lie  in  the  way  are  neces- 
sarily ruptured  in  this  work ;  plants  are  broken  off 
and  destroyed;  and,  finally,  the  little  piles  of  earth, 
or  mole-hills,  heaped  up  by  the  animal  in  the  course 
of  its  excavations,  impede  the  reaper  when  harvest- 
time  comes  around.  Never  mind :  the  worms  would 
have  caused  much  more  serious  damage,  and  to  get 
rid  of  them  there  is  nothing  like  this  ravenous  insect- 
hunter.  Therefore,  children,  never  molest  the  mole, 
the  protector  of  our  crops. 

"The  toad  is  harmless,  but  that  is  not  enough  to 
commend  the  creature  to  our  attention.  It  too  is  a 
helper  of  great  worth,  a  greedy  devourer  of  slugs, 
beetles,  larvae,  and  every  sort  of  vermin.  Discreetly 
withdrawn  by  day  under  the  cool  cover  of  a  stone  in 
some  obscure  hole,  it  leaves  its  retreat  at  nightfall 
to  make  its  regular  rounds,  propelling  itself,  hoppity- 
hop,  on  its  ample  stomach.  Here  is  a  slug  on  its 
way  to  the  lettuce-plants ;  yonder  is  a  cricket  chirp- 


352  FIELD,  FOREST  AND  FARM 

ing  at  the  entrance  to  its  hole;  and  over  there  a 
June-bug  is  laying  its  eggs  in  the  ground.  Master 
toad  comes  along  in  circumspect  fashion,  opens  his 
cavernous  mouth,  and  in  three  gulps  swallows  them 

all  with  a  gurgle 
of  satisfaction. 
Oh,  but  that  was 
good!  Now  for 
some  more  of  the 
same  sort. 

1 '  He  continues 
on  his  rounds,  and 
when  dawn  begins 

Common  American  Toad  ^    glimmer    ^    the 

east  what  kind  of  a  hodge-podge  of  variegated 
vermin  must  there  not  be  in  the  glutton's  capacious 
maw?  Yet  they  kill  this  useful  creature — stone  it 
to  death  because,  forsooth,  it  is  not  so  handsome  as 
it  might  be.  My  children,  may  you  never  be  guilty 
of  such  cruelty,  such  foolish  and  mischievous  cruelty ! 
Never  stone  the  toad,  for  in  doing  so  you  would  be 
robbing  the  fields  of  a  vigilant  guardian.  Let  the 
poor  creature  perform  in  peace  its  appointed  task  as 
destroyer  of  worms  and  insects. 

"Finally,  and  not  least  of  all,  must  be  mentioned 
the  various  birds,  chiefly  the  little  birds  of  our  fields 
and  farm-yards,  that  help  the  farmer  by  devouring 
harmful  insects  and  the  seeds  of  wild  grasses  and 
intrusive  weeds.  These  indefatigable  assistants, 
however,  we  have  already  discussed,  and  we  have 
gratefully  acknowledged  our  indebtedness  to  them. 


THE  FARMER'S  HELPERS  353 

No  more,  then,  need  be  said  about  them  at  present, 
except  in  the  way  of  renewed  admonition  never  to 
molest  them,  never  to  rob  their  nests ;  for  they  are 
our  friends  and  benefactors. ' ' 


FINIS 


